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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29091822">Game of eternity (May we meet again)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wandering_Rogues/pseuds/Wandering_Rogues'>Wandering_Rogues</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Direction (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Aristocracy, Blood, Blood Drinking, But also, Character Death, Historical Inaccuracy, Human Harry Styles, Human Louis Tomlinson, Implied Sexual Content, Love Letters, M/M, Modern Era, Museums, Mythology - Freeform, No Smut, Nonbinary Character, Not Really Character Death, Other, Past Harry Styles/Original Male Character(s), Past Lives, Pining, Secret Crush, Strangers to Lovers, Time Skips, Vampire Harry Styles, Vampire Louis Tomlinson, Vampires, but not really described, but not really secret, earl harry, historian niall, i mean they are vampires after all its expected right??, marquess Louis, might add a second work at some point, might add more as we go along, only like in one or two sentences tho, they are more a side character sorry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:15:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>60,106</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29091822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wandering_Rogues/pseuds/Wandering_Rogues</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"There's a new exhibit at the British museum, wanna go?" </p><p>Harry's always been an art enthusiast, frequenting one museum after the other. Modern art? Sure. Russian royalty? Of course. Love through centuries? Definitely.<br/>What he does not expect is to see a letter confessing his infatuation hundreds of years ago, now secured behind a casing of glass. A letter he never sent and that was never meant to be read. </p><p>or</p><p>Louis and Harry met in their first lifetime. And again in their ninth.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It's been a while since I wrote a fanfic, and I tried to do a slightly different take on vampire fics – one that's not all about sucking blood lol</p><p>I hope you enjoy it and let us know what you think! ♡ </p><p>Triggers might be:<br/>- talk of death (They lived for centuries, it's inevitable but not talked about in detail except for one scene in later chapters) (will add a warning at that chapter)<br/>- mention of war (historical events such as both world wars or smaller battles, but they are just mentioned, no real focus on the actual events and fighting)</p><p> <br/>Disclaimer:<br/>Also, this quite obviously is a work of fiction. The characters affiliated with my fic are *not* the same as they are in real life and this work does not reflect how I feel about them and I do not claim to know their irl actions and intentions. I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this work, they merely inspired the story. (Anyway, now have fun ♡)</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Past, Pt. 1</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“May I ask the occasion, Lady Courtesy?” The man asks as he slowly circles the pedestal on his knees, eyes strictly focused on his work. He sets the measuring tape against his ankle and measures around it, the brown worn leather band cold against the man’s bare skin.</p><p>“We will have a celebration in honour of my daughter finding a fitting suitor. And we surely need a new and appropriate attire for the festivities,” she says, her eyes not straying from the deep red linen. “And my son has had quite a growth spurt if you will, so I found it best to have him fit for an entirely new wardrobe first.”</p><p>The man on the floor nods curtly, some hair that had slipped out of the low ponytail covering his face. He jots down some numbers in a leather-bound journal, scanning the yellowing pages.</p><p>“Yes, Lady Courtesy, I have the measurements here. Your son has grown almost half a foot taller since the last fitting.”</p><p>The conversations his mother has with commoners have never been particularly interesting, rather superficial and bland. It’s only fit to let his mind wander, he tells himself. His eyes roam the expanse of the three mirrors in front of him. The dark carved wood surrounds the reflecting surface, surely custom pieces Jonathan had commissioned. The flooring is wood as well, and he despises it. The light surface was nothing compared to his bedroom – where he would not have to fear to walk without shoes and get a splinter. Splinters have always been a fear of his ever since he was little. An irrational fear, his eldest sister would tease.</p><p>“You’re an adult now, brother dearest. A small splinter is nothing to be afraid of,” she would say.</p><p>But he would always subconsciously worry when he was around untreated or poorly crafted wood. When he was a young boy, just been breeched, he ran around the garden barefoot and a large splinter pierced the flesh between his big and second toe. Even the eldest maids were afraid to remove the skelf while he sat on the chair with fat tears rolling down his cheeks and half-choked sobs leaving his mouth. They had to fetch a doctor in the end, and he was forbidden to walk for two whole days and to be barefooted outside ever since. But he did not particularly mind that after the whole ordeal.</p><p>He slightly wiggles his toes, the pedestal he is perched on cold beneath his soles – wooden as well, but properly worked on. As a child, he had always felt as if it was the highest peak he would climb. Now, a decade and a half later it is but a mere step.</p><p>“I sure hope it has been the last time grew this much, Jonathan. My Harry is already taller than my dear husband.” His mother saying his name snapped him out of his daydreaming, eyes focusing in on her in the far left mirror.</p><p>“Mother,” he mumbles.</p><p>“Dear,” she chuckles softly, fingers stroking a square of black velvet laid out on a table, “you might not realize it but it does hurt your father’s ego the tiniest bit that his son has outgrown him.”</p><p>“Should he not be happy, as both you and he are rather short, but grandfather was almost six and a half feet tall? I come after him and his father in the best ways,” he argues.</p><p>It’s a weak try, no reasoning nor logic behind it and if his father were to hear his argumentation he would scold him as if he were just caught stealing a piece of tarte as a child. His mother, bless her heart, smiles still.</p><p>“You might be right. Hopefully, your children will be just as tall and smart as you are.”</p><p>Children. Right.</p><p>“Uhm, so do you have a special colour in mind we should use for the betrothal celebration,” he mumbles.</p><p>“Open your mouth dear, and ask again without that word in the beginning. A nobleman is to be eloquent,” she chides.</p><p>Right. Eloquent and proper.</p><p>“Pardon me, mother. Do you have a special colour in mind we should use for the betrothal celebration,” he asks again louder and almost rolls his eyes when she smiles at his correction.</p><p>“I was thinking of red and gold. It is such a cheerful event after all. And many nobles have already been invited by your sister and her betrothed so we need to look our very best, you out of all. I had Maud Eugenie invite all her friends from boarding school and she has hinted a few have expressed interest in marrying soon.”</p><p>He nods stiffly, lovelock falling over his shoulder and to his front. He knows he is lucky to not have been betrothed yet, but apparently, it is soon to come.</p><p>“Red and gold will go beautifully together, Lady Courtesy. May I suggest red fabrics of different tones and gold embroidery to make it look proper regal,” the man on the floor chimes in, and Harry could not be more thankful to have someone else to steer the topic away from impending engagement and marriage, family planning and becoming a father.</p><p>Jonathan measures his thighs and hips next, scribbling small numbers into his booklet.</p><p>“And for daily wear, I would craft him new sets of white blouses, a brown and black cloaks and doublets of black and grey velvet, maybe linen. Maybe I could use some red or saffron fabrics as well, for a touch of spring in the halls and the closet.”</p><p>“I would like that, thank you, Jonathan. You are the best, as usual,” his mother smiles reassuringly.</p><p>She is right; Jonathan has been their tailor since Harry can remember, and likely before he first was welcomed into the world. His mother said he crafted her dress for the first portrait his father and her had ever commissioned as a married couple.</p><p>The two dive back into discussing fabrics, cuts, colours and Harry pushes the noise to the back of his mind again, focusing on his surroundings. The sunlight streams through the windows on his far-right, specks and pieces of dust float in the air, seemingly dancing along to the waltz of creaking floorboards and bird singsong. The room could use a good airing out, but who is he to criticize Jonathan’s workspace. The positive side of the stale air tainted with the smell of old clothing and paper is that the room is rather warm, homely almost. It reminds him of the library back at their estate.</p><p>He feels skilled hands against his back and shoulders, neck too, but they do not make his heart race, his hands sweat pr his face redden. They move pathological, and with a single purpose. It is only now he realized the quiet conversation turned into a comfortable silence. A ding of a bell announces someone’s presence in the display room of the shop in the front.</p><p>“I’m very sorry, Lady Courtesy, your honourable Harry Styles, I did not expect to have customers this early in the day. I will be quick,” Jonathan apologizes and rests the leather measuring tape on his shoulder before he walks out of the back room. Hushed voices fill the silence, and after a few minutes, the old man appears again.</p><p>“My apologies, again.”</p><p>“It is fine, Jonathan,” Harry’s mother reassures. “We have taken so much of your time already. May you finish measuring so we can return and leave you to tend to your business?”</p><p>Her request leaves no room to argue or appease, so the leather tape is on his body again, movements skilled and quick from decades of practice.</p><p>With all measurements taken Harry steps down from the pedestal and tiptoes behind the partition. His clothes lay as he placed them, crisp folds and accurate atop one another. He carefully puts on his stockings and beeches, the material snug against his hips and almost exposing his ankles.</p><p>He puts on his blouse and the vest next, and gently places his lovelock over his shoulder again, smoothing down his curls. Seemingly men envy him now because of them. ‘Fashionable’, they call them. Harry would call them rebellious because brushing them is an ordeal in itself. But he would never complain, he knew better than that.</p><p>“Be humble, but know your Worth,” his mother taught them early on. “And if someone wants to take your worth as if it was a treasure to be stolen, put yourself on display confidently.” Well, that was the meaning of the fifteen-minute speech he had received after a commoner child had asked him for his cloak and he gave it willingly.</p><p>He walks to his mother and smiles softly. The black linen and intricate embroidery accentuate her fair skin beautifully. Her hair is in an updo, another trend nobles have discovered for themselves.</p><p>The last ball they went to, mere weeks ago, his mother had scolded him not to gawk and to close his lips. Wigs and powdered hair towering over everyone’s heads, some had intricate braids crown the art atop their heads, others had incorporated flowers, fascinators and he is sure he saw Lady Victory Dorothea with playing cards in her styling.</p><p>They thank the man and exit the small shop tucked away between a bakery and a residential house.</p><p>The part of town is not the best, cleanest or safest to be in when you are noble, but loyalty to a friend and a skilled craftsman is a value his father taught him and his sisters early on.</p><p>They cross the cobblestones of the street carefully, Harry’s mother holding onto his arm for support. On the other side, the coachman opens the door to the black carriage and bows slightly. Harry helps his mother up in the carriage and climbs in after she is seated.</p><p>“Thank you, dear.”</p><p>He smiles, answers enough he supposes. The door shuts gently and the carriage starts to move along the road blackened by mud to their estate.</p><p>The townsfolk call it a castle, but he has seen and resided in more luxurious places. The ride they spend in silence, and Harry lets his mind wander to a future where he might not have to marry so soon, might not have children so soon, might be allowed to do what he pleases.</p><p>○○○</p><p>The week of the celebration creep upon him, on tiptoes and hiding in the shadows to reveal itself in an unsuspecting moment. </p><p>He gently runs his fingers along the spines of novels, collections of poetry and novellas that are inviting him to be swallowed down a hole into a different life full of love and innocent companionship. </p><p>“Your honourable Harry Aubigny, the Lady Courtesy has sent me to fetch you.” </p><p>He looks away from the volume of a fairly new poet and at the maid waiting patiently at the door. Gently placing the book down, he follows her into the main building. The sound of his steps bounces off the walls. He gently thanks the maid at the grand staircase and descends to join his mother and sister at the bottom.</p><p>“You sent for me?” he inquires. </p><p>“I did, dear. The first guests for the celebration arrive in very few minutes and I would like us to welcome them properly.” </p><p>He raises a brow and looks towards the heavy oak doors separating them from the outside.</p><p>“It is almost a week early, who would arrive with this much time to spare?”</p><p>He sees his mother’s lips form into a thin line, the red lipstick almost fully disappearing.</p><p>“It is not proper to ask why one is early.” She turns to him and gently brushes her hands over his shoulders, smoothing the black velvet vest and lace collar of his white blouse.</p><p>She carefully lifts her finger and twirls his lovelock, accentuating the curl and artistically placing it on his right shoulder. His mother rarely inconveniences herself with his hair these days, too many mornings of his youth spent with a comb caught in tangles and a crying son. He creases his forehead and tilts his head.</p><p>“Mother?”</p><p>“I’m sorry, dear. It’s Maud’s betrothed and a close friend of his, a marquess according to his letters. He is fairly young, still, a little older than you. From the letters of your sister’s fiancé, he is 21 and still unmarried. Between us, I believe there is something wrong with him. Maybe he’s a cripple.”</p><p>“Mother! </p><p>“What is it dear,” she questions nonchalantly. </p><p>“You teach us to never judge before you know someone and to not let your own suspicions get the worst of you, yet you voice it out loud. You do not even know if something is wrong. He might have decided to wait for marriage. I have read that a marquess is rather busy during the day.”</p><p>“Dear. He is twenty-one, the perfect age for marriage, children. Yet he chooses to not do that?” </p><p>A carriage rolls through the gatehouse and follows the stone path until it comes to a stop directly in front of the doors.</p><p>“Now be on your best behaviour and do not voice my concerns to anyone. I shall inquire about them myself.”</p><p>Harry breathes a quiet ‘Fine’ and nods, relaxing his shoulders as his mother stops petting his hair and returns her had to her front. Two maids open the doors to the fresh air, the air of spring turning into summer filtering through the opening. They step outside on the stairs and Harry smiles softly. </p><p>A coachman opens the door facing the building and two men step out, bowing slightly to the family in front of them who bow back. </p><p>“Welcome, we are thrilled to have you with us this early,” his mother exclaims with practised joy. </p><p>“We are honoured to be here, Lady Courtesy,” Alexander speaks up, a dashing smile spreading across his face as his eyes drift from Anne to his betrothed.</p><p>Harry has met the man a handful of times before at different social festivities he was expected to attend. The earl was posh, to say, and Harry has despised his habit of mentioning the riches he has and how extensively bred his stallions are. But he was charming. At the least, the man was irresistible enough to captivate his sister and propose to her only a month after their first meeting. </p><p>Harry looks to the other man that exited the carriage. He was shorter than Alexander, a little less built. The man looks over the four people in front of him again, eyes flitting quickly from Maud to his mother, to Isabel and then to him. He bows again slightly. </p><p>“I am honoured and grateful to have been invited to your estate, Lady Courtesy.”</p><p>“Thank you, your Lordship.”</p><p>“This is Lord Louis Fredrick Cavendish, Marquess of Hartington,” Alexander chimes in. “He is one of my closest and dearest friends and the man who was the first to congratulate me on such a well-picked match for marriage.”</p><p>Harry briefly glances at his younger sister and sees a light rosy colour creep up her neck. <em> Why would she blush, this was by no means a good complement of her beauty, wit or intelligence. </em> </p><p>“I am thrilled to make your acquaintance, your Lordship. Our estate is open for you to explore and live. I shall have a maid show the both of you to your rooming for the time being,” his mother smiles. She turns to the small row of maids that have formed in the roundel behind them.</p><p>“Please show his Lordship to a prepared room in the West Wing, and the Honourable Alexander to a room in the east wing. Be sure to have their belongings placed in their rooms as well.” Two women step forward and bow deeply, before walking off with the two men after them. </p><p>“Mother, why does Alexander have a room so far away?” </p><p>“Maud, sweetest, I adore your sentiment towards your fiancé, but I do not want him getting any ideas during the nights if he were roomed so closely to you.” </p><p>She huffs and walks inside. “Isabel, please go after her and calm her temper.” </p><p>“I will, Mother,” the oldest daughter replies and follows the younger woman, softly calling her name. </p><p>Harry walks inside as well, deeming the introductions to be over. He quickly finds his way back to the library where he picks up the poetry volume he left. Sitting in a tall chair at a window he opens it and starts reading. The words dance through his mind, scenes of storms and tranquillity pushing doubts and worries away. </p><p>“I believe we have not yet been introduced.” Harry flinches and looks up around the room before he spots the man in the door. “I’m His Lordship Louis, Marquess of Hartington.” The man walks over to the seats and gingerly places himself on a cushion across from Harry. His brown hair is pulled back into a sleek slow ponytail and the black velvet creases at his knees. </p><p>Harry clears his throat. “I’m pleased to properly meet you, his Lordship. I’m the Honourable Harold. I presume you have found your rooming well?” </p><p>“The room is lovely. You may call me Louis, without the title if you wish.” </p><p>Harry nods slightly. His mother always taught him it was improper to address someone of higher ranking without the noble’s title, but if they ask he surely cannot refuse, right? It could be considered ill-mannered.</p><p>“Thank you, I will. You may call me Harold as well.”</p><p>His Lordship, Louis, nods and smile and soft wrinkles show around his eyes. Those blue eyes. If Harry were more eloquent in writing, he would write volume upon volume about the tenderness and love the blue of the man’s irises holds. </p><p>The skin of his neck feels a little warm, a light blush finding its way up. If he was visually blushing as well Louis did not acknowledge it.</p><p>“What are you reading?”</p><p>“Oh, it’s a fairly new poetry volume by Andrew Marvell.”</p><p>“Oh,” he exclaims, lips curl into a smile. “I have heard of him! He seems to have a rather riveting way with words. Which of his works are you reading?”</p><p>“Oh, uhm. The, uh, the definition of love,” he stutters.</p><p>Louis nods, eyes gliding over Harry’s body in the chair. “I do not think I have heard that one. May you read a part for me?” His voice is soft if Harry were to trap it, its presence would be as soft as mink fur.</p><p>Harry clears his throat. He never recited a poem to someone, not to mention a practical stranger who was as regal-looking as the Lord. He shifts in the seat and picks the book up again.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“For fate with jealous eyes does see</p>
  <p>Two perfect loves, nor lets them close;</p>
  <p> Their union would her ruin be,</p>
  <p> And her tyrannic pow’r depose.”</p>
</blockquote><p>Head turned down to the open pages; he looks up as Louis through his lashes. The man cradles his chin with a hand, eyes focused on Harry’s form reading.</p><p>“It might too forward a question, but do you believe in love?”</p><p>There is a shift in the room, the tension in Harry’s body, and he blanches, fully shifting attentiveness to Louis.</p><p>“What makes you think I do not?” How dare he believe he would not believe in such a mighty feeling? Why would he not, his parents seem in love and he could not fathom never feeling the deep devotion of another, one to grow old with, one to die for.</p><p>“What makes you think I insinuate you do not believe in love,” he replies and crosses his legs.</p><p>“Why would you ask it, if you do not have prejudices about it,” he huffs, closing the book with more force than necessary.</p><p>“Because I am curious. I gathered you appreciate love in general, seeing as you are not married,” Louis explains slowly. He rubs his hands across the expanse of his thighs.</p><p>“And what does that have to do with it,” Harry bites back. The man is insufferable, sticking his royal entitled nose into Harry’s delicate business. His father might have been right with his initial appraisement of the man – a brash and haughty marquess with no regard to privacy and nobility.</p><p>“With this, I mean no offence, Harry. I would suppose you either are not ready for marriage and a family, or you are following the smaller movement of noblemen who choose to get married when they fall in love instead of taking a bride for power and rank. You seem too caring for taking advantage of any fair lady for your benefits.”</p><p>His ears ring, how dare this male talk to him like this? “Have you forgotten your regal upbringing,” he grits out quietly. He clenches his jaw and quickly rises from his seat, putting the book down on the side table. “I do not wish to further be in your presence. I suggest you mull over your improper behaviour, your Lordship.”</p><p>He glares at the man still seated and turns to exit the door, feet clicking on the wooden flooring on the way to his room. He clicks the door shut behind him and a sigh leaves his mouth. With his back against the surface of the door, he closes his eyes and leans his head back.</p><p>Questions swarm his head; doubts fill his mind alongside confusion. Anger. He knows he should apologize for his outburst in the library to stay on the marquess’ good side, but it is justified anger. Louis –no, his Lordship – has no right to be so inquisitive about his marital status.</p><p>Harry pushes off the door and walks across the room to open the window. The cerulean sky has speckles of thin clouds on the expanse. <em> Maybe I shall go for a ride tomorrow, </em> he ponders. </p><p>His silhouette stands at the window, a welcoming breeze circling him, engulfing his body. He smoothes down his vest and tucks on the ruffles of his blouse to flatten the sleeves. </p><p>A knock on the door startles him.</p><p>“Yes?” A maid steps in and bows quickly.</p><p>“I have come to fetch you for supper, your Honourable.” He nods and closes the window before following the woman outside and through the halls to his destination. Another maid opens the door in front of him and he sets foot in the grand dining hall, his sister and her family seated already. </p><p>“Good evening,” he greets and sits down in his assigned spot on his father’s left.  </p><p>“Hello, uncle Harold,” Elliot – his sister’s firstborn – grins. </p><p>“Hello Elliot, dear. How was your day with the tutor?” </p><p>The young boy frowns and shakes his head. “I do not like math.” </p><p>Harry chuckles. “I suppose it can be hard at the beginning.” </p><p>“Do you do maths?”</p><p>“Yes, on many days. You just have to practice like your tutor has asked you to and you will be as smart as him one day.” </p><p>“Really? He is really, really, really smart,” the boy stresses. Isabel gently runs her hand through his brown curls. </p><p>“I am certain of it. But you have to practice and stay focused. One day you will be able to help your father in his office, too,” he smiles.</p><p>Elliot has been inquisitive since he was in the womb. When Harry would play the Violin with his sister present the baby would kick, at age 3 he would eat nearly every plant he encountered in the gardens only to ask after he had swallowed if it was edible. The boy would poke his head into his father’s office every day despite a harsh scolding after every instance. </p><p>“Really, father?” </p><p>Maximilian looks at his son and nods. “One day when you have studied well you may help me, your uncle is correct.” </p><p>The boy grins and bites his lower lip, looking at his lap. Harry can see he is wiggling in his seat. The doors open once again and Louis and Alexander walk in, greeting everyone and seating themselves at the table as well. </p><p>A waitron and maids emerge from a side door and pour every adult glasses of wine, placing food in the middle of the table. After the staff exits the room and the nobles start piling food on their plates, fresh bread, grapes, plums and apples from the orchard along with dried and cooked meats.</p><p>The meal is a quiet ordeal, words only being spoken when someone asks for refreshment. They clean their hands and mouths with some napkins and Harry excuses himself from the table. </p><p>He barely makes it to the grand staircase leading to his bedroom when a hand on his shoulder stops him with a firm grasp. Alexander is looking at him, a slight frown gracing his forehead, lips pressed in a fine line.</p><p>“What happened between you and Louis?” </p><p>Harry scoffs and pushes against Alexander’s wrist, effectively removing the hand from his body. The latter drops his arm and laces his fingers in front of him.</p><p>“I do not think that is any of your concern, pardon me.” </p><p>“He asked me if you always are so defensive. Harold, what happened?”</p><p>He scoffs again. “If you must know, he plagued me with questions on my marital status. I assumed someone of the status marquess at such a young age knows these kinds of inquisitions are improper, but apparently not.” </p><p>Alexander sighs and nods. “He is a very,” he waves his hand in the air between them, “forward personality. It’s a trait I appreciate in him and he knows that. I will speak to him, ask him to apologize.”</p><p>“You don’t need to concern yourself with my troubles. I’m sure we will be civil enough until he departs again after the celebrations,” he assures and Alexander slowly nods his head.</p><p>Harry sees him swallow, expecting another question, another intrusion in his world of thoughts, but it never comes.</p><p>He turns away and walks up the stairs to his room, stopping only when the door falls shut behind him. He sighs, slowly unbuttoning his vest and neatly placing it on an armchair. He changes out of his hose and breeches into a soft tunic. He takes a seat at the vanity and slowly brushes his hair out, taking special care of his lovelock. </p><p>Night falls quickly and he is forced to light a candle next to his bed to allow him to continue reading. Harry falls asleep, darkness enveloping him quickly. </p><p>The following morning he wakes up to raindrops slamming against his window. Harry rises slowly. A slight pain spreads through his neck so he lifts a hand to rub against the clammy skin.</p><p>
  <em>So much to him taking a ride today. </em>
</p><p>He walks to his vanity and sits down, taking in his appearance in through the mirror. There is a dish on it, filled with water and – judging by the soft fragrance it is emitting into the air – rosewater. Harry takes a cotton cloth and dips it into the water, slowly rubbing across his neck and collarbones. The fabric feels nice against his body, the water still lukewarm. </p><p>Harry then slowly changes out of his nightwear and into his white ruffled blouse and a saffron linen vest, stockings and breeches. He makes his way downstairs, the halls quiet as usual at this time of day.</p><p>He has always been an early riser. He makes his way down through the servant hallways to the kitchen, nodding to maids and waiters walking along. His father would scold him if he were to find out Harry socializes and dares to dine with peasants. But Harry was smart enough to ask the head of the kitchen to have his early visits stay a secret by sneaking a pound more into everyone’s salaries by switching a few numbers in his father’s books. </p><p>He pushes open the last door, a man with two buckets almost barrelling into him.</p><p>“Apologies, Your Honourable,” the guy mutters and speed walks down the hallway. Harry’s focus follows him for a split moment, before entering the kitchen. It’s bustling with maids and two cooks, a lit stove in the corner heating the room. </p><p>“Good morning, your Honourable.” </p><p>“Good morning everyone,” he greets back and sits down at a chunky table in the middle of the room. A maid sets two pieces of bread and a batch of butter in front of him.</p><p>“The butter was freshly churned yesterday.”</p><p>“Thank you, Miss Esther. If you permit, how is your son doing?” He takes a piece of bread and spreads some soft butter on it, taking a bite. </p><p>The woman smiles and rubs her hands together. “Elijah finally has been accepted at the smithy as a full-time position. I’ll be able to finally retire from here and work at the tailor. Can you believe it, Your Honourable,” she grins and twists one of her braids with an idle hand.</p><p>Harry was the only one who knew she would quit working in the noble’s service soon, once her son got a proper paying job, to pursue an occupation she felt fulfilment in. She once confided to him she felt out of place at the estate, and he understands it. </p><p>“I can believe it, Miss Esther. I will write you a letter of reference to take with you, you have always been the saving grace on mornings I could not figure out what to wear,” Harry chuckles.  </p><p>“Exactly, this is my point. What is it with white people and not being able to pick appropriate clothing? You all clearly need my help in a tailoring shop,” she laughs heartily, setting down a cup on the tabletop.  </p><p>“You just have the most special touch of style out of everyone at the estate, there is no denying it.” </p><p>“She might have the best sense of style but she has no idea how to make edible plum jelly,” another voice from somewhere chimes in.</p><p>Esther snorts. “At least I can watch my bread while it’s baking so it doesn’t burn.” </p><p>Harry smiles and continues eating, the bickering of the maids filling the room with noise and a familiar atmosphere. </p><p>Once his stomach is comfortably full he thanks the staff and walks to the main building again.<em> Maybe I can take a stroll through the town.</em></p><p>Half an hour later he is sitting in a carriage on his way to the town centre. The coach comes to a stop in front of a skinny building tucked away between a butcher and a laundry. The black building stands out like a sore thumb between the brown wood buildings.</p><p>They must have painted the exterior between the last time he was here and now. He gets out, quickly walking across the street, entering the store. A bell above his head rings, startling him for a mere second. This is new, too. </p><p>“Good day, Your Honourable. How may I help you,” the man behind the counter immediately questions. </p><p>“Good day, I am just to look around, thank you, Sir.” Harry tugs on his cloak slightly, the material falling just around his hips. He walks further into the store, the poetry section a siren and him a sea captain in love with a magical tune unheard of. He browses the aisle, grinning when he finds a rare copy of a poet’s last volume.</p><p>He picks the book up and holds onto it, picking out two more limited prints with which he walks up to the counter – the bibliopole bowing lightly and taking the money he was given. Harry exits the store, squinting when the sun hits his eyes. </p><p>He looks at the carriage, brown horse hanging its head low. Instead of going home, he turns left and walks along the street, revelling in the damp air.</p><p>The part of town he is in doesn’t have the usual stench to it, the cobbled streets not covered in black and elusive sludge. He dodges hurried women on his way. </p><p>“Get outta here whore.”</p><p>His head snaps up and he looks around the perimeter. He spots a woman carrying a crying baby in front of a small house, a man throwing dresses out of the door.</p><p>“I don’t want that bastard in my house.”</p><p>And <em>oh, it’s this kind of argument.</em></p><p>His speed ceases until he stands still, watching the scene unfold from a safe distance. He tugs on his cloak, swallowing. The woman seems to be wiping her face, likely crying while harshly bouncing the newborn.</p><p>Harry licks his lips, biting on it. He couldn’t begin to imagine what the female must be feeling right now – thrown out of her only safe place while nursing and nurturing an infant. </p><p>A thought pops up in his mind, and he quickly pats down his pockets, grasping the piece of paper. His tongue glides across his bottom lip again and he resumes his walking, determinedly moving towards the woman, bumping into her side clumsily. </p><p>“I’m sorry, Miss,” he quickly exclaims, not stopping his steps.</p><p>He moves to the entry to a small alleyway and crosses the street to walk back to his carriage still waiting for him at the bookshop. As soon as the coachman spots him he quickly opens the door, and Harry steps in. He twists his lovelock around his finger and he smiles lightly. Sixteen pounds poorer but heart feeling lighter than ever. </p><p>○○○</p><p>The two following days go by slowly. He rises on a sunny Wednesday and slowly dresses in red. He quietly eats in the kitchen again, conversing with Esther. The two get along well, Esther enticing Harry with her open and motherly nature. </p><p>He browses the library again, smiling to himself when his eyes meet a title of a volume he’s particularly liked. A black leather binding catches his eye. He slowly pulls the book off the shelf, raising his other hand and preventing other books to tumble down onto the woven carpet. He turns the book around his hands. </p><p><em>It looks nice, might as well take it, </em> he ponders. Quickly stuffing it in his leather satchel he exits the room. The gravel crunches underneath his soles, birds flying overhead. Harry makes his way across the yard, following the footpath to the stables, greeting a young ostler. </p><p>The large doors are wide open, inviting anyone into the dark building.</p><p>“Please ready Ember for me, thank you,” he requests, the boy nodding and running off to a pathway on the right.</p><p>Harry walks along the hallway, different horses sticking their heads out into the open space to sneak a look at the echoing footsteps interrupting their quiet.  </p><p>He stops at a black stallion, the majestic beast taller than him. It looks in his direction with black eyes and nickers. He steps to the box door and gently scratches between its eyes.</p><p>“Blessed morning to you, too, Ruby.” </p><p>He feels a forceful nudge against his hand, the animal stretching its neck and pushing against his upper body. Harry chuckles and scratches the horse behind its ear.</p><p>“I don’t have any carrots for you, you will have to wait until dinner, my boy.” </p><p>“I did not expect you to be an animal whisperer as well, your Honourable.” </p><p>Harry flinches and Ruby throws his head high, taking a panicked step back into his box. He looks over his shoulder. </p><p>“Good morning, your Lordship.” Louis’s hair is slicked back into a ponytail like in their first meeting and he is wearing a deep blue linen set. He looks regal, simply put. He swallows lightly and adverts his eyes from his form. </p><p>“I was wondering why you were in the stables this early,” Louis asks as he steps to Ruby’s box, holding his hand in. The animal eyes him, ears laid back flat against its head but it sniffs him nonetheless. </p><p>“Uhm, I was going on a ride. The weather is rather nice,” he mutters. Right on cue, the ostler enters with Ember in tow.</p><p>“Your Honourable, your horse.” </p><p>“Thank you.” The boy ties the reins on a metal rod at the entrance and leaves the two nobles alone in their shared solitude.</p><p>“If you excuse me, your Lordship.” Harry turns and walks up to his mare, gently petting her neck. Her deep brown fur shimmers in the sunlight and she swishes her tail slowly. </p><p>“Your lordship, your horse.”</p><p>Harry looks up and another stable boy walks up to the entrance, pulling along a dark grey horse. He turns his head to look at Louis. The man nods and bids his thanks quickly, taking the reins and throwing them over the animal’s head. </p><p>“Harry, this is Dragonfly.” The shorter man scratches the animal behind its ears, pulling a strand of the black crest from under the bridle. Harry can only nod and swallow dry. He unties the reins and lays them on the saddle. He mounts his horse and pets her neck roughly. </p><p>“What is her name?” </p><p>Harry breathes. “Ember.” </p><p>Louis mounts his horse as well. “We can ride together, I have always wanted to get to know the surroundings of your estate better.”</p><p>Harry bites the inside of his cheek, pain spreading in his mouth. He squeezes the reins harder and digs his heels in her sides sending her into a relaxed walk. The lord is an adult, why would he need Harry – interrupt his sought out solitude and peace – for a. For a<em> tour of the lands</em>. </p><p>The two ride alongside through the portcullis and onto the dirt road outside of the castle. Harry squeezes his legs and sends Ember into a fast trot along the tree line, abandoning the path. His cloak flaps around against the wind, hair blowing into his neck. The air is cold, his cheeks tingling.</p><p>No doubt his face has a red tint to it by now. Muted thumps sound behind him and he looks over his shoulder, seeing Louis hot on their heels in an equally relaxed trot. In a few minutes time, the grey horse catches up to the two.</p><p>Louis slightly manoeuvres it in front his Harry and Ember, the mare throwing her head up and slowing down into a walk, head hung low and reins slack. </p><p>“I have heard we are not far from the ocean,” Louis calls over the wind. Harry pulls the reins tight and forces his mare to stand. He ties his long hair into a neat ponytail. His fingers are red, skin cold and stiff. The marquess turns his mare around to face them. The animal whinnies, stomping.</p><p>The ground underneath is soft earth and there is no doubt to Harry that if they were to dismount this minute or let the animals take control they would barrel over the soft meadow skipping as foals touched by spring’s enthusiasm. </p><p>“It is an hour-long journey on horseback. I would not call it ‘close’,” he corrects the Lord and huffs. Harry glares lightly, shifting in the saddle.</p><p>The scenery is almost magical, the sun beating down on their hair and garments, warming the earth beneath their very feet and sending nature into summer frenzy und restlessness. Harry looks over at Louis.</p><p>The man has one hand gracefully resting on his thigh and is slightly turned to the younger man. He looks ethereal, his hair shiny and healthy-looking, smooth skin and a soft smile on the lips he is sure to have tasted the most luxurious of treats.</p><p>Ember whinnies and shakes her head, black mane swishing. Harry pats her neck again and draws in the reins. The horse continues dancing on the spot and swishing her tail. </p><p>“Harry.” Louis rides over to them, grasping Ember’s reins close to her muzzle effectively stilling the unceasing movements.</p><p>“You need to calm down, from whatever it is. Horses feel how the human feels and they display it.”</p><p>The man drops his reins on Dragonfly’s saddle and pulls up the other beast’s head, scratching the space between its eyes. </p><p>“She is very pretty, you know.” </p><p>Harry takes a deep breath through his nose, readjusting his seat in the saddle and the positioning of his feet.</p><p>“She hasn’t got the best pedigree, but she has a personality I fell in love with when she was a foal.”</p><p>“I see,” the answer is softer, and Harry merely watches as Louis's hand wanders from Ember’s white face to her dark brown neck, slapping the muscle lovingly. </p><p>“Uh, your horse is very pretty as well.”</p><p>“She is unique, for certain. I have learned it’s called blue roan,” Louis laughs. </p><p>The man is right. Harry has never seen a horse with such a coat. The dark grey coat shimmers almost blue in the sunrays, with strongly contrasting white strikes and soft small black spots on its flank. The black mane seems to have been untangled and brushed recently. The muscles on her legs seem defined and practised, similar to Ember’s physique. Louis lets go of Harry’s reins again, squeezing his muscular legs around the horse.</p><p>“What way is the coast?”</p><p>“Towards south.” </p><p>Louis smiles, mischief behind the glint in his eyes and poorly hidden in the crinkles of his eyes. “Then let us chase the sun like Icarus. I have always wanted to see the sea. But let's not drown in it.” </p><p>Harry smiles softly.</p><p>“You know Icarus flew too close to the sun and unknowingly fell to his doom, right?”</p><p> The two men resume their ride, speed slow. It’s quiet between the two for a while, only the birds singing their symphonies. The wind around them is soft, cooling Harry’s heated skin. The horses walk beside each other closely, the occasional loud deep breath escaping from them. </p><p>“Who is to say he did not know he would fall if he got too close to the sun? Icarus fell for the sun even though he knew he would find his demise, nothing but the agony in his,” Louis waves his hand, “infatuation and love for the sun. Icarus was aware is wings were of wax. But he saw beauty in it. I believe he was aware but ready and willing to give up himself for what he cherished the most.”</p><p>The young man looks over to his companion of horseback. The latter is facing to the front, posture relaxed but straight. Harry’s eyes trail lower. Louis’s legs flex beneath the linen fabric sheltering it from the elements. He averts his eyes quickly, focusing on the path they are following instead of occupying his mind with the image of Louis’s muscles. </p><p>They ride in silence, enjoying the companionship they provide each other. The sky darkens, white wisps on the cerulean sky turning into black threatening clouds heavy with rain. </p><p>Louis looks towards the heavens. “We need to head back, Harry.”</p><p>A peal of thunder comes from the sky. Harry nods, agreeing wholeheartedly. The air turns colder by the minute, clouds congregating and covering every inch of blue. They pick up their reins and turn around.</p><p>Halfway on their way back, the thunder comes back, screaming revenge for them enjoying the sun and warmth of summer. Out for blood. Rain pelts down upon them, the two spurring the horses into a quick gallop along the tree lines and muddy pathways. Harry’s clothes are soaked by the time they ride into the stables, two stable boys taking the reins. He wipes water off his face and over his head.</p><p>He looks over at his companion, and Louis is as wet as Harry himself is. The linen clings to his legs and the frills at his wrists drip rainwater onto the floor, sleeves glued to the man’s skin. The fabric has become see-through, and Harry swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. The man’s muscles are defined beneath the wet linen. He assumes he doesn’t look any better. </p><p>“We should head inside.”</p><p>Louis nods and they run across the pathway, gravel crunching almost unnoticeable with the thunder cracking like a whip and rain thrumming down, flooding the lawns. They enter the building and two maids immediately walk up to them with towels. They take off the men’s drenched cloaks and pat their arms dry. </p><p>“We will prepare baths for you, Lord, Your Honourable.” </p><p>“Thank you, it’s appreciated,” Louis answers. The maids bow and march upstairs towards the west wing of the estate. Louis turns to Harry, and.</p><p><em>Did his eyes just roam over my arms? No, I must be mistaken. </em> </p><p>“I enjoyed today, Harry. Even if I could have gone without an unwanted cold bath at the end,” he chuckles. </p><p>Harry nods and a smile graces his lips. His skin still tingles from the cold, blood rushing towards his digits. The men part ways upstairs and leave towards their respective bedrooms. The younger of the two enters his chambers and clicks the door shut softly. The fire in the hearth is lit, and in the far corner of the room, he spots a tub. He slowly walks over and dips his hand in briefly.</p><p>The water smells of roses and he is thankful the maid added the oils to his bath. He despises reeking of stable and horse, as much as he loves going for a ride. The heat is passable, but his hand is stiff with cold so the water almost burns him. His skin tingles and turns a light shade of red almost instantly. He stands back up and wipes it on a towel.</p><p>Harry slowly unbuttons his vest, his fingers betraying him, the fine movements of undoing the buttons made difficult by the missing feeling in the digits. He places the fabric on a stool. A knock startles him. He opens the door. </p><p>“Lord, uh, Louis. Is something wrong?” </p><p>The man opposite of him doesn’t answer, eyes flickering between Harry’s face and something lower. Harry frowns, and looks down and <em>oh.</em> He forcefully clears his throat and Louis’s eyes snap up again.</p><p>“I just wanted to ask, uhm, if your, uh, satchel was dry or if the book you mentioned was ruined by the rains? Yes.” </p><p>Harry lightly crosses one arm in front of his chest, suddenly self-conscious and very aware that he is still wearing his drenched blouse – white, almost see-through blouse that clings to his upper body.</p><p>“The book is fine. Thank you. We will meet at dinner again.” He doesn’t wait for a reply and quickly slams the door shut in Louis’s face.</p><p>His face starts burning, and he does not need to look into the mirror of his vanity to know his face has taken on an erubescent hue. He takes a deep breath and releases the air from his lungs slowly. He peels the wet fabric off his body, throwing it on the stool by the tub and adding his stockings and breeches on top of it. </p><p>He lowers himself into the water and he lets out a sigh of delight.</p><p>He wiggles his toes and watches the ripples on the surface of the water spread. Harry swallows and shakes his head. He was not sure how to feel about Louis seeing him in such a... <em> compromising... </em> attire. No woman, or even man, has laid their eyes on him in the nude – or anything close to it.</p><p>But as unsure he is of his feelings toward the brash young marquess, he is sure about him not being against a repetition of their encounter. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Don't be thrown off by the different last names. Obviously they (everyone in chapter 1 &amp; 2) would have different names in the fic in a different century!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Past, Pt. 2 <br/>Hope it's good! Enjoy ♡</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The following day begins in a similar fashion. Harry wakes up and dresses, buttoning the black velvet vest. He sits down at the vanity and slowly brushes his curls out, paying special attention to his lovelock. He twirls it around his pointer finger and places it on his shoulder. His reflection stares back at him with tired eyes. Harry takes a small container out of a drawer and dips his finger in the cream, patting it into his skin. </p><p>Once he deems himself presentable he wanders downstairs and joins his family and their two visitors downstairs. He eats his oats in silence, snacking on slices of apples on the side. The taste is marvellous, sweet and fresh. He wipes some juice off his lips with the back of his hand and takes a sip from his glass.</p><p>The atmosphere at the table is relaxed, the children still tired, not having shaken off the grasp of sleep quite yet. Isabel has her youngest in her lap, gently petting the toddlers head. The two-year-old has her head laid against the woman’s shoulder, eyes closed and lashes softly fanning over her cheeks. Harry remembers how quickly he fell in love with the girl. </p><p>○○○</p><p>
  <em>      Harry has made camp in the sitting room in the east wing. Last night’s sleep has not come easy and left him with heady eyes and stiff muscles. He glides his finger over the book he tries to read. The volume rests heavily on his thighs and he rubs his eye with a closed fist. He has been up for hours already.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Good afternoon, Your Honourable.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Harry looks up and smiles at Mister Harter. The old man bows slightly, tugging on the little boy’s hand. Elliot toddles into the room, swaying on his feet. “Good afternoon, hello Elliot. Did you learn well today?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      The child nods lightly. “Yes, Your Honourable. His cursive is improving by the day and he reads more fluently. We are finished for today and he asked me to get his mother, but,” the man trails off. Harry nods lightly and sits up straighter.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Thank you, I believe he will not need a tutor tomorrow so you do not need to come.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Mister Harter nods and lets go of the toddler, small steps leading hi to the loveseat Harry is perched on. He bids the man who was his own tutor a few years ago goodbye and pulls the child on the cushion next to him. “Did you like your lessons today?” The kid nods. “Where is mummy?”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Harry sighs softly and tugs on the boys dress gown, laying it flat over his legs. Soon he would get his first breeches and proudly parade his new attire around the estate and get sweets as a gift for his accomplishment. Harry remembers the day he got his first breeches – permanently changing from gowns to soft stockings and hose. He ran all over the estate to find his aunts and grandparents to show off the blue linen. They gave him some grapes and his grandmother, bless her soul, gifted him a jar of fresh honey and his first pony. His father was livid. He scolded his grandmother harshly but had let Harry keep Buttercup.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Your mother is in her bedroom, you know that my dearest.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “I don’t want mummy in there, I want to play with her,” Elliot pouts.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “I know. But you know she has to rest so your sibling can be welcomed into the world. The baby is kicking a lot, you have felt that, right?” The child nods lightly, tugging on his dress. “And now it’s time for it to come out of your mummy, so it kicks even harder to tell your mother it is ready to meet you!” Harry gently pets his hair, dragging his hand through his hair.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      The two are quiet for a while, silence stretching between them. “Want to see what I am reading?”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “I don’t want to read anymore,” a tiny voice mumbles and Harry chuckles.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “You don’t have to read. It’s a book on plants, we can look at the pictures in it instead and wait for news on your mother and sibling.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      He feels the child cuddle up against his upper body and he places an arm around it, squeezing him against his form. He opens the book again and slowly flips through the pages, pointing at illustrations and explaining some things about the plants.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      The duo sits and softly speaks for hours, the sun setting outside and a maid steps in at some point to light candles to illuminate the room.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      It’s hours after supper, their bellies full from supper. Harry and Elliot are still in the sitting room with a blanket wrapped around them. Yawns occasionally fight their way out of the boy’s mouths. A maid walks in, bowing. “Your Honourable.” Harry looks up to the woman, a lump building in his throat. “Your sister, Lady Isabel Ann has given birth and is well. She has asked for you both.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Harry smiles brightly, all tiredness leaving his body and he sits up. “You heard that, Elliot? Your mother is well and wants to see you! I bet your sibling is thrilled to meet you finally.” He gets up and picks the child up, resting him on his hip. “Thank you, Esther. You may leave for the night if my sister has no further need for you,” he chimes. Harry abandons the red loveseat he made his home for the last two days and walks to his sister’s chambers.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Come on, Elliot, knock on the door first,” he beckons the toddler. The latter slowly lifts his hand the tiniest bit, the hours of the day weighing it down and dulling his efforts. Harry takes pity on the boy and gently cups his wrist and gently raps the hand against the wood. He knocks after he lets the child go, for good measure.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      A muffled “come in” finds his ears and Harry pushes the door open slowly, clicking it shut after he enters. He blanches for a second. The room is warm, bordering on hot. The stale air has a metallic stench to it. He swallows and looks to his sister on the bed. Her figure seems small, big duvet swallowing her whole. “Come over, I want you to meet someone,” she whispers. Harry notices a rasp in her voice. He tiptoes to the bed and peers into the bassinet. “This is Evangeline Blair,” the woman mutters. Harry hoists the boy on his hip a little higher allowing him to take a look at the wrinkly new human inside the baby bed. Her nose was small and lips thin, the softest tufts of blonde hair adorning her head like rays of light.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Harry smiles, lower lip wobbling. He swallows and sets Elliot down.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      “Isabel, she is beautiful. I cannot wait to have her in my life and protect her as much as I can.”</em>
</p><p>○○○</p><p>He excuses himself once he is finished and takes the familiar path to the stables. Ember is munching on hay at the entrance, black saddle fastened to her back. He nods to the stable boy and loosens the knot on the reins, throwing them over the neck of the mare. He huffs and mounts the animal, squirming until he is comfortable upon his seat. Digging his heels in her side he trots out of the stable. The sky is blue, and nearly no wind ruffling his loose curls. Ember slows down, and Harry takes time to appreciate the marvellous summer weather. There are some buttercups on the side of the road, yellow butterflies travelling from blossom to blossom in search of a snack. He spots ravens on the path he is riding on, they peck the ground. Harry pulls on the reins and brings Ember to a halt and he watches the birds for a while. The black feathers shimmer in the sun like black gold. He grins and picks up the reins, digging his heels in her side and sending her into a light canter. He steers her through the flock of birds, the sound of flapping wings and scandalized squeaks filling his ears. A laugh escapes his lips, cheeks flaming in boyish joy. He spurs her on and follows the birds, giggling every so often. The animal’s hooves dig in the soft earth and send clumps of mud flying up behind them. The wind bites his skin, hands turning stiff, but he feels warm. Adrenalin is flowing through his body and wind is travelling through his hair to add tangles to the mess of curls.</p><p>He barks a laugh and slows the horse into a slow walk after a few more moments of boyish exultation. He slaps Embers neck lovingly, scratching her brown fur. The tiny grains of sand collect underneath his fingernails, so he lightly picks at them to relief the minuscule pressure. “Such a good girl,” he praises and rubs her neck again. Ember whinnies and stomps forcefully, shaking her head.</p><p>“Harry!”</p><p>He looks up, spotting a horseman approach him a few yards away. Upon further investigation, he notices the slim yet muscular silhouette of Louis on Dragonfly. The sun might as well envy the Lord’s bright smile and gleaming eyes. “It was hard catching up with you. But I’m glad I found you.”</p><p>“I did not expect you wanted to join me for my ride again.”</p><p>“No, I forgot to tell you. I, uh, wanted to ask if you wanted to join me on my ride to the coast?” the marquess asks, voice timid. He bites his lip and readjusts in the saddle. “I packed a book and all,” he adds quickly. It’s just then that the younger man notices a saddle bag fastened behind Louis’s saddle. The young earl-to-be nods lightly, an ever so soft smile appearing on Louis’s face.</p><p>They turn their horses around and start their journey towards the south. The birds are still chirping, and some ravens are cawing on the field to their left. “Harry, can I ask you something? Nothing too personal. I promise.”</p><p>Harry looks over to the man nodding for him to go on. </p><p>“How do you like Alexander?”</p><p>The question catches Harry off guard for a moment, brain blank and tongue dry. “Did he ask you to inquire about him?” </p><p>The lord chuckles, the noise soft to Harry’s ears. The latter looks over to him, hair slicked into a ponytail yet again. The embroidery on his cuffs glimmers in the sun, the golden thread catches his eyes. His eyes follow the swirls and soft lines. “Do you like poppies?” </p><p>“Poppies?” Louis looks over to him and follows his eyes to his cloak cuffs. “Oh, not particular. But they are our family flower. Each summer there are thousands upon thousands of poppies on our land and we have become rather fond of them. Their vibrancy brings the joy of summer into the estate,” the man explains. </p><p>“They wilt rather quickly, do the not?”</p><p>“Yes they do, petals fall and we have to throw the bouquet out in a week’s time. But it’s a trait I rather appreciate.” Harry raises an eyebrow. Louis smiles bashfully. “Do you know the feeling you get in summer when you just get restless and you just feel on top of the world and feel invincible and like bleak winter will never come and coat everything in white? Poppies remind me things aren’t forever, nothing is invincible.”</p><p>“I’m afraid I do not understand,” he mutters. </p><p>Louis takes a deep breath and swallows. “You know I’m the Marquess of Hartington, right?” He doesn’t quite understand what poppies have to do with Louis’s standing in the British aristocracy, but Harry nods nonetheless. “My father passed away a little over a year ago, in spring. Quite ironic, if you ask me,” Louis chuckles but there is no humour behind the action. “Spring brings the entire world back to life after months of cold and bleakness. Instilling life into nature, but yet it took the life out of my father’s heart.”</p><p>“Louis, I did not know, I am terribly sorry.”</p><p>The marquess smiles and swallows, Harry can distinctly hear him take a deep breath. “It’s alright, Harry. I have come to terms with it, I think.”</p><p>“How-“ </p><p>“The doctor said his heart stopped suddenly, he was sick before. He was out of breath quickly, had to take breaks after every staircase towards the end. But when we put him to rest, there were poppies all over. Some petals even got blown in the grave by the wind. And now it seems every time I see a poppy, it feels as if he were still here. His life might have ended abruptly and too early, fading like the beauty of the flower, but they always come back next year. No matter how cold and harsh, long or resilient the spirit of winter is, poppies are a constant in my life that brings me great comfort.” </p><p>“So,” Harry starts. </p><p>Louis’s smile is soft, not joyous. Pity maybe, pity for himself. Pity for his younger self who abruptly was sworn into the title of a marquess and had to step up to a position of power as an inexperienced boy barely-turned-man. “You do not have to say anything, Harry. But that’s why I, and my entire family, enjoy poppies.” The man shakes his head. “So can you tell me your thoughts on Alexander?”</p><p>“He is,” Harry stops. How <em> does </em> he feel about the man who is to marry his young sister? “He is a gentleman, that is for sure.” </p><p>Louis gives him a look. “You do not like him, do you,” he teases? </p><p>Harry’s lips fall open. “How dare you insinuate this.” The birds overhead scream loudly, soaring on the air’s currents. “But you are right,” he chuckles. “Do not mistake my dislike for hatred. He seems a respectable Earl, and very knowledgeable on his business. But I wish my sister would have been swept off her feet by someone who knows when to stop bragging about how ornate his estate church is painted or how many furs he earned in annual fox hunts.”</p><p>“He is a lot, you are right. He gets lost in his brags a lot. He grew up in a large family and is the first to marry. I believe he had to prove his worth and value a lot of times.”</p><p>The young earl nods. He knew just how Alexander must have felt, but then again he was in a different position. To his knowledge, Alexander was the oldest of eight, and one of six boys. It was not uncommon for a noble to bestow their title to a son who was not the eldest. The man probably felt pressure ever since his second brother was born. Harry would never have this kind of trouble as the oldest son of the Earl. </p><p>“I think I will welcome him in our family as long as he treats my sister well. Her heart is too big to be trampled upon,” he sighs. He sees Louis nod in the corner of his eye. They speak no more and focus on their ride and their surroundings. Harry ponders over the marquess’s previous revelation. How Louis might have felt when his mother, maybe even a doctor, told him he would now be marquess of the region. They ride for over an hour, silence stretches between them. It is not a heavy silence, rather comfortable. There is no need for words, spending time in each other’s company is enough. Soon enough the sound of waves enters their ears and Louis brings his horse into a trot down to the beach. The pebbles crunch under them. Louis dismounts and slaps the animal lovingly. “We should take a break now. The sun is still lovely.”</p><p>Harry joins him on the ground as he stretches his limbs. His ass is sore and he is sure it will be tomorrow, too. The waves create a steady rhythm, calming his mind. The first time he was on the coast was at age eleven. His sister had beckoned him to take off his stockings and join her in the shallow waters. He fondly remembers his mother’s scandalized gasp when she turned around and her eldest daughter had lifted her dress up to her knees, exposing her tunic and naked legs. The two children ran away with giggles. Warmth fills Harry’s heart at the lightsome memory. He looks back to his companion and their gazes meet. The other man smiles, and crinkles next to his eyes show up. He watches as Louis pulls down the saddlebag and produces a blanket from the pouch. He looks around, pondering for a moment if he should hold onto the reins or help Louis set up a place. </p><p>“Come, sit. They will not run.” His focus snaps back to Louis who has expertly laid the blanket on the pebbles, weighting the edges with some stones to stop them from flapping up whenever a gust of wind attacks them. Harry nods slowly and walks over to him, gracefully sitting down. His knees crackle a little. He frowns. <em> I am a little too young to have my body make these noises. Whatever.  </em>He settles down, carefully letting the black leather reins fall from his hands. The animals merely glance at him before they resume to nibbling on a small shrub that reaches just above their knees. </p><p>“I don’t think I have ever been to the beach,” Louis breathes. “I have been at rivers, but the sea,” the man trails off. </p><p>“It’s magnificent. When I was younger I believed the ocean was endless, no land to be seen once you leave home behind by ship.” </p><p>“I believe that. If I did not know of other lands, other continents, I would never accept the sea was finite; rather ironic.”</p><p>“Why is that ironic now,” the earl giggles. The sound is light, barely louder than a breath of fresh air, but the way Louis’s lips curl into a smile makes Harry believe he heard it. </p><p>“My father has partners who export from another country. It usually is deer leather or French or Spanish wine. But recently, I took a risk and added something new to the business. Citrus fruit.” </p><p>“Citrus? I think I read about these! They are sour, are they not?” Harry turns his body to the man fully and draws his knees up. He gently rests his chin on his kneecaps. </p><p>“Terribly bitter, indeed. They make tea taste terrific when it was too sweet. These are lemons, bright yellow. Allegedly their juice is great for deserts, too, but I have yet to taste anything my cooks have made with it. But there was another fruit I added.” The man pulls the saddlebag close again, opening the buckle. He pulls out a strange round and orange ball. “This is an orange.” <em> Oh, the name is fitting. </em> “I brought quite a few with me as a thank you gift. The nobles in London and up in Manchester cannot stop trying to get their grubby fingers on these.” </p><p>Harry slowly takes the fruit when Louis offers it to him. It feels heavy, the skin nothing close to what he has felt before. “How do you... eat it? Do you even eat it? Is it poisonous,” he marvels and squeezes the ball. Louis laughs and takes the fruit from his hand. </p><p>“It’s one of the biggest I have brought with me on the trip. You peel it,” the man clarifies and turns the round fruit in his hand. </p><p>“Like an apple? But I did not bring a knife,” Harry pouts lightly. </p><p>“This is no problem. You can peel them without a knife. You just have to,” he mumbles. Harry watches as the man turns the bit with the stem up, ripping it off the fruit. What he did not expect was that Louis digs his nails into the fruit, juice flowing out of the rip, over his fingers and drips onto their shared blanket. He watches as the man expertly rips off shreds of peel and throws them behind the two into the shrubbery. He claws at the exposed orange flesh and digs out a sizable chunk, offering it to Harry. </p><p>“Oh, no. Thank you, but-“ </p><p>“I dare you to try it, Harry. If you do not like it, you can always spit it back out. Nothing will happen. I promise,” Louis assures him. Harry raises a hesitant hand and takes the fruit from Louis sticky fingers. Small droplets of juice travel own his fingers instantly. He gives another look to Louis, eyes unsure. But Louis nods enthusiastically as he bites his lower lip. He takes a deep breath through his nose and brings the fruit to his mouth, putting it into his mouth. His tongue tinges at an instant, and he raises his brows in shock – no, not in shock, but elation. The taste is so foreign, so exotic, so new to him. He chews slowly and he cannot help but grin. He licks his lips and looks back at Louis holding the source of the delight of nature. </p><p>“It’s good, then?” </p><p>“I, Louis, I have never tasted this before! It is so sweet but sour like sorrel but yet so so different,” Harry exclaims, extending his hand again. Louis shakes his hand with a laugh. “I feel like I now will have to send oranges to your estate after every shipment we receive.” The man rips off another chunk of flesh and carefully picks off a white string from the outside and a tiny seed before he hands it to Harry who devours it quickly. He was starved, sheltered from what the world had to give and now he has to taste every offering it has to give him and Louis is the angel showing him what he has missed. Before he knows it he swallows the last of the fruit and Louis gets up slowly and walks to the shore, bending over to wash his hands off. Harry’s hand are sticky as well, but he decides to just wipe it off on the blanket. Louis settles down next to him and hands him a book. </p><p>“I told you I have brought a book,” he mumbles bashfully, causing the younger man to smile. </p><p>“I remember. Thank you for thinking of that.” </p><p>“To be frank, I did not do it without intention. I was hoping you would read to me again?” </p><p>Harry looks over and watches as Louis slowly strokes the blanket beneath him. He fights a grin and looses he battle instantly, unpracticed in the art of war. He squirms on the rocky and uneven ground before he opens the volume and starts reading aloud. </p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>He that loves a rosy cheek,<br/>
Or a coral lip admires,<br/>
Or from star-like eyes doth seek<br/>
Fuel to maintain his fires:<br/>
As old Time makes these decay,<br/>
So his flames must waste away.<br/>
<br/>
But a smooth and steadfast mind,<br/>
Gentle thoughts and calm desires,<br/>
Hearts with equal love combined,<br/>
Kindle never-dying fires.<br/>
Where these are not, I despise<br/>
Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes.</p>
</blockquote><p>He looks up again. Louis has his eyes focused on the horizon, shoulders slouched in a relaxed manner. Harry lets his eyes roam over the man’s face, his jawline and button nose. The ends of his hair fly in the wind, sticking to his cheek. Harry swallows and looks away, ticking his free hand beneath his thigh to refrain from swiping the wisps of hair out of his companion’s face.  </p><p>“Harry,” the marquess begins and his eyes never once shift from the horizon, or the waves gentle lapping on the beach. They engulf the small pebbles and drag them away from the shore. Maybe he was looking at a stray shell buried in the rubble. Harry was not sure. “I have another question.”</p><p>“About?”</p><p>“You.” </p><p>“Louis,” he huffs, “as much as I appreciate our companionship you still-“ </p><p>“I know, you do not owe me any answers, no justifications, no explanations. I won’t force you to speak out, it’s just,” he rubs a hand across his eyes and jawline. “I just want to know if you are happy.” </p><p>“Happy? Why would I not be happy.” Harry frowns. By the time the betrothal celebrations have finished the lines on his forehead will make him look a decade older, he is sure of it. He has not frowned this much in a week since he first learned how to manage his father’s tax books. </p><p>“You do not seem fulfilled. In the last few days, I have rarely been privileged to encounter you smiling,” Louis explains softly and he turns a beige pebble in his hand, thumbing over the washed and weathered surface. </p><p>“I smile a lot!”</p><p>A seagull caws in the distance, adding to nature’s orchestra alongside the wind’s expert andantino and the wave’s steady larghetto. </p><p>“The first time I have seen a genuine smile when you were sat on Ember chasing a flock of crows.”</p><p>Harry blanches. He smiles a lot, he is sure. He smiles at his siblings, his relatives and even the maids and employees when he is alone with them. His father was always the most stoic within their family – almost rivalling a frowning statue he once saw at a graveyard – and he always keeps a straight face no matter the circumstances. The noble is also a harsh employer. One mistake and you are out of work by nightfall. “I do not need to smile constantly to be happy.”</p><p>“I know. But, are you? Happy, I mean.”</p><p>He licks his lips slowly. They became dry quickly once they entered the open breeze coming from the sea. “I think I am on my way to it. I cannot be happy without a wife, a family, someone to devote my life to and share my dreams and passions with.”</p><p>He hears Louis let out a heavy sigh, weighted down by something he cannot decipher. “Let me tell you a story, dear one. When I was younger my mother taught me that happiness and contentment is the key to a fulfilled life. I had the best tutors, the nicest rooms, maids to play with me to my heart's content. But I was never fully happy. Content, maybe. I had and have no space to ask for more, God has gifted me with riches over and over again.”</p><p>“And are you happy now?”</p><p>Louis looks over to the young earl and lets his eyes trail over him. The corner of his lip twitches upward. “I think I am.” He looks back to the shoreline, waves crashing and seafoam bubbling and covering the pebbles. “I have been content long.”</p><p>“Was that your story? Pardon me, but it was not a very good story.” Harry opens his messy ponytail and slowly reties it. The wind has tangled his curls beyond being able to untangle them with his fingers. He will deal with it once he is back at the estate. Maybe he could ask Esther to brush his hair; she has the gentlest hands and the lightest touch. He cherishes their conversations, too; they talk about poetry. Harry shares his favourite poems, sometimes recites a verse he remembers, and Esther introduced him early in their time together to other poets and even female writers. He wasn’t even aware females were publishing the most heart-wrenching prose – under male names no less! </p><p><em> Baby earl, you have so much to learn, </em>  she had chided him as she brushed his hair once. You white m <em> en already force us behind a stove half of the time, if we wanna write a poem about love we will.  </em>Harry grew fond of the works of a gentleman called Juan Latino. He had to revise and practice his Latin just to understand the man’s intricate ways with words, and he was in awe. </p><p>“It was a part of it. I might tell you the whole story one day. And you know I am not married, or even engaged to a Lady.”</p><p>“Yes, do not tell my mother but she first believed you were a disabled noble and that was the reason for your lack of wife and children.”</p><p>The marquess snorts and shakes his head. The man weakly throws the pebble he had been caressing for their whole conversation towards the sea. “I thought as much. But no, as you see I have no disabilities. But I am content, and most importantly happy without a wife, without the responsibility of children I am not ready for.”</p><p>“So what? ”</p><p>“Why do you want to place your happiness in someone else’s fragile hands?” Louis turns toward him and tilts his head to the side, eyes holding the enthusiasm of the blue sky and dark storms of the sea. </p><p>“What do you mean?” He licks his lips. </p><p>“You said you cannot be happy without a family, a wife. Your fulfilment should not rely on another person’s shaky slipping grip on your golden heart. You are too gentle, too precious for that kind of heartbreak. You can never share happiness with others if you do not plant it in your own garden first. You do not need to have a wife or children to pursue your dreams and chase your ambitions.”</p><p>“That is oddly nice of you to say, thank you, Louis. I might not agree, but I cherish the advice.” His voice is gentle. Harry turns away from the man and faces the water. A heavy lump has been building up in his throat and he shakes his head quickly – as if he were whacked in the head and shakes off his delusions. </p><p>“Just, promise me something?” The young man swallows and nods, not trusting his voice to come out strong and steady if he were to answer. “Promise me, you will strive for happiness as much as you can. Not contentment, but happiness.” Harry feels Louis’s hand on his shoulder and he nods again, averting his gaze down to the blanket. The ma squeezes the muscle and Harry finds himself lean into the loving touch. A soft finger trails over his cheek. The inner battle is in full force, swords clashing between his rationality and feelings. He places his hands down hesitantly and scoots closer to the other man, his side pressed against Louis’s drawn-up knees. The latter shifts around and gently sets an arm around Harry’s lower back, the other hand still softly caressing his cheek. </p><p>“I promise you. Cross my heart,” Harry merely whispers and further leans his head into the man’s touch. His hands still feel slightly sticky but Harry cannot find it in his heart to mind. A sword has fallen, rationality on its knees and bowing its head in submission. And Harry cannot find it in him to pick up another weapon. </p><p>The time ticks by slowly. At some point, the wind picks up in speed and drops in warmth so they decide to return to their estate. Harry carefully leaves Louis’s embrace and gets up with crackling knees. He kicks the stones off his side of the blanket and helps Louis fold the fabric up. He hands it to Louis, fingers lightly grazing his skin. He watches at Louis stuffs the blanket and the book into the saddlebag. Harry walks over to the horses that have been grazing a few yards away. His mare raises her head at the noise of crunching gravel beneath Harry’s feet. Harry gently strokes her belly. “Thank you for staying here, Ember. I was afraid you would run away with your new friend,” he whispers. He feels a forceful nudge against his back that sends him stumbling against Ember. Lips pressed together in a thin line, he looks back to be greeted with gentle black eyes and grey fur. He huffs and stands up straight again, ignoring the laughs that come from Louis’s direction. He pets her face as well. “Yes, thank you, too, for not bailing on us, Dragonfly.”</p><p>Louis walks over to him – them? – And throws the saddlebag on his mare, fastening the leather strips. “Do not forgive her impertinence. She might be a charmer but do not let her get away with it. Otherwise, I will have to get on her bad side to correct her,” he chuckles and pushes Dragonfly towards the side with a huff. “It took me months to get her to stop biting my arm whenever she wanted a treat and did not get any. The little brat.”</p><p>Harry giggles, hand coming up to cover his mouth and hiding the fond smile. They mount and start their journey back. “Where did Dragonfly get her name from,” Harry breaks the silence. Louis snaps his head over to him and smiles. “Her pedigree is full of fast horses that were used in fox hunts. And she always galloped over the meadows in zigzag when she had a lot of pent up energy. She reminded me of a Dragonfly so the name stuck.”</p><p>“Did she have a different name before?”</p><p>“Yes. Queen Debutante,” he snorts. “As if her coat was not extraordinary enough, her original name definitely made sure to let people know she belongs to a noble.”</p><p>“I like Dragonfly better, I think. It has a meaning behind it.” Harry licks his lips. “Ember was really a gift to our family. Well, not a gift in the literal sense of the word,” the younger man smiles and scratches the horse. “One of my father’s duties is to collect taxes and tithes for the churches. One time a farmer was not able to pay so he offered two mares and a sheep as payment.”</p><p>“It is nice of your father to accept the offer.”</p><p>Harry rolls his shoulders and stretches his fingers a little. “Oh, do not be fooled. He did not want to accept it. My mother and Isabel, my oldest sister, and I protested when he said he would take them to the butcher. The man would chop a rose off his grandmother’s grave if he could without upsetting her peace.”</p><p>He feels eyes on him but does not turn to Louis to meet his gaze. “He is strict, then?”</p><p>“I think,” he swallows and looks up for a moment. The sky is blue, white clouds adding to the ethereal beauty of summer. “He does what he does because he wants me to succeed? I am his only son, the one who will inherit the title and estate and tasks of an earl once he passes. He does not see emotions as a necessary part of life and aristocracy and he raises me according to that.”</p><p>“And his grandmother,” Louis waves his hand in front of him slightly.</p><p>Harry puffs a breath and smiles. “My great grandfather was as strict as one could be. And he was philandering. And you know, no matter who was unfaithful in a marriage, it always goes back to the wife. My great grandmother lost her honour and credibility from it. I believe my father was instilled that his own grandmother does not deserve anything nice because she had lost her credibility amongst the aristocrats and commoners alike. It would not be beyond him to ruin her peace in the afterlife,” he mumbles.</p><p>“It’s been hard, I presume. But you still have Ember.”</p><p>Harry is utterly grateful that Louis decided to shift the conversation to a topic that won’t drown him in an ocean of sadness. “Yes, my good girl Ember. She had a loud personality. She would whinny and neigh every time someone walked past the boxes. She could not even see over the door but she kicked against it relentlessly until the stable boy just put her on the meadow until she was ready to be broken in.”</p><p>“So she was a literal foal when she came to your estate.”</p><p>Harry grins and nods. His hands have started to feel cold again in the constant wind. “Yes, she was a small mare, but thankfully she grew up or else my legs would drag on the ground. Well, that is what my sister always says,” he chuckles. “I was the one who broke her in. I fell off a lot but father told me if the horse were to stay I would have to take ownership. And breaking her in is just one part of it, no?”</p><p>“Definitely. I cannot fathom preparing a horse myself, breaking it in. Can I trust you with a secret?” Harry nods quickly and looks towards the other man. “As much of a skilled rider and hunter I am on horseback, I am terrified of falling off or a horse trampling or kicking me. You surely are braver when it comes to animals.”</p><p>Harry laughs, the noise resembling a goose honk so closely he slaps his hand across his mouth and blushes. Louis grins and looks back onto the path they follow.</p><p>“I like your laugh. I am glad you grant me the privilege of hearing it now, genuinely.”</p><p>His ears feel even hotter now, he icy feeling in his fingers and ears replaced by a warm tingle. He bites on his lower lip to suppress a grin to appear. He picks up the reins again with both hands. “You cannot just say that about this.. this good honk,” Harry exclaims.</p><p>“I sure can say it and I did, your Honourable,” Louis mocks, nose screwed up and voice disguised. The impression draws yet another laugh from Harry and he shakes his head.</p><p>“Egad, stop making me laugh,” he breathes out as he squeezes the reins.</p><p>“I will make it my life mission to make you laugh without the weight of the world dragging you down, my little Icarus,” Louis exclaims, throwing a hand up above their hands for emphasis.</p><p>“I’m not Icarus, I do not fall for the sun knowing my wings would be gone,” he chuckles.</p><p>“We will see, dearest one. We will see.”</p><p>The two men ride in silence. Harry starts to recognize the trees and the road they entered. He looks over to Louis. His nose has a red tinge to it from the cold, and his hands match. Harry wants to cup his hands with his own and rub them back to warmth. “Race you,” he shouts and digs his heels in Ember’s sides. She springs forward into a fast gallop with a snort. Harry leans forward and squeezes the reins tighter. The wind smacks against his skin, the ends of his ponytail tangling with the movements. Harry’s thighs feel sore. His muscles protest with every movement he makes to stay balanced on horseback. He can make out Louis shouting “You cheater” and loud rhythmic thumps behind him. Dirt flies up behind them and his back feels sweaty. His hands sting from the cold and his eyes water from the wind. But he would not have it any other way. They barrel through the garden to the stable. He pulls the reins tight. Ember slows down and stops rather abruptly so Harry ends up almost falling over her neck to the floor. He breathes adrenalin coursing through his body.</p><p>He has not done anything this fun with someone who was not part of his own family in years. The closest was playing marbles with Mister Jonathan's nephew in his shop when his mother got fitted. He misses companionship some days. How thrilling and grounding it would be to have a friend who is not focused on what Harry did the previous week without the intention of getting an expensive gift or a noble courtesy title from him. </p><p>“You utter cheater! How dare you set an unfair competition,” Louis shouts with a smile on his face as Dragonfly trots over to them.</p><p>“I do not know what you mean. I recall saying ‘race you’. You are just cross with me because you lost when you praised your riding talents earlier,” he giggles and slowly climbs from his horse. He pats the sweaty skin of Ember’s neck and rubs behind the ears. Louis joins him on the ground.</p><p>“No, you are simply a cheater, your Honourable Harold Aubigny.” Harry lets a bright grin take over his face and he shakes his head. Two ostlers come over and take their horses inside the stable.</p><p>The two start moving toward the main building, gravel crunching. Harry stretches his fingers and curls them back into fists a few times. The blood flowing back to his digits should relieve the stiffness. “Are you ready for the celebrations in two days?”</p><p>Harry snorts. “No, I’d rather sit in the library than mingle with monarchs.” Harry’s initial fear goes unsaid. His mother has made it very clear he has to mingle with ladies attending the festivities. His thoughts wander back to what Louis said. <em> Don’t put your happiness in someone else’s hands</em>. His entire life he was prepared to take over the estate and his father’s duties one day, once he has settled with a wife, with a son to continue their legacy and lineage. Most of the guest have arrived within the last few days, six carriages alone entering their lands just yesterday. The dining hall is full every morning and evening. He has had the task to chaperone the ladies who attend Maud’s boarding school to their rooms after dinner, bidding them a well rest. His mother calls it “early stages of courtship”, his sister teases him with “opportunity to show your feathers and woo them”, but to Harry the dozens of walks through the hallways next to a noblewoman complimenting their estate, horses or gardens feels like a duty.</p><p>“I clearly understand that. I will try to make sure you will have a few moments to yourself. Promise.”</p><p>A fond smile spreads on his face and he watches Louis’s eyes light up, brightening the room as if he lassoed the sun and wrestled it inside the halls.</p><p>○○○</p><p>Thursday comes in the blink of an eye. Before Harry even has time to grasp time he is perched on a chair in front of his vanity. Esther gently brushes his hair after she had worked some powder in the roots. “You will sweep all ladies off their feet today, Your Honourable. I just know it.”</p><p>He smiles lightly and looks at her through the mirror. “I would hope so, Miss Esther.”</p><p>“With the handsome velvet attire, Mister Jonathan has fixed up for you? You will charm every single person in that room and rival your sister’s beauty with your grace.” She takes the rosewater bottle and lightly sprays some on Harry’s neck and lightly taps it. “I need you to go get dressed so I can finish you up, dear.” She gently pats his shoulders. Harry rises and walks behind the divider that was brought into the room the day before. He looks over the neat pile of clothing on a stool. The deep red fabric looks regal, intricate gold embroidery adorning the collar and the hem of the tailored vest. The texture is amazing, Mister Jonathan has outdone himself with these garments. He carefully takes off his night tunic and places it on the side. He picks up white stockings – new pair fresh from the tailor as well – and slowly slides them on along new breeches. He slips on a white ruffled blouse, the fabric gentle against his skin. He adds the vest on top.</p><p>He strolls back in front of the divider and sits back down. He toys with one of the gold buttons at the bottom of the vest.</p><p>“You have to close that up, or are you planning on enticing the noblewomen by showing off more of your body? I have not taken you for a harlot.”</p><p>Harry’s mouth opens in an o-shape but the corners twitch upwards. “How dare you talk to a noble like this, Miss Esther.”</p><p>The woman picks up a brush. “As if I will not retire from here by next month,” she lightly hits him on the shoulder with the comb but starts brushing his curls right after. Harry laughs and looks at the woman through the mirror again.</p><p>“I wish you all the best, Miss Esther; and all the best for Mister Elijah as well.” There is a beat of silence. “Do you really believe I will find a wife today,” he whispers.</p><p>The woman averts her gaze to the noble in front of her and squeezes his shoulder. “Well, it won’t be a lawful wife quite yet, but someone who you can propose to. Harold, I have seen you grow up into a charming, prudent and handsome young man.” Her eyes roam his face, taking in frown lines on his forehead. “Do not tell anyone else, but I was on night cleaning duty after dinners the previous week. I heard a few Ladies in the blue sitting room who gushed over you - how much of a gentleman you were and respectful while showing them off to bed after dinner. In this ballroom tonight will be dozens of eligible women who would claw at each other’s hairdos to have you propose to them.”</p><p>A lump starts building in his throat at rapid speed, strangling him, restricting his breathing. His voice is shaky, quiet – barely louder than a whisper in the night: “I do not know if I want these things right now, Esther.” The man’s voice breaks at the end and he swallows, shaking his head. The woman grabs his cheeks softly and turns it back to face the mirror. Her motherly brown eyes catch his shining ones.</p><p>“You, my baby, sound exactly like my Elijah,” she coos and pats his right cheek softly. “He isn’t ready for a wife either. And he doesn’t have to be. And neither do you, baby.” She leans forward a little, a few of her locks falling over his shoulder. “You might never be ready for a wife. Sometimes you aren’t even ready until it hits you. And that is completely fine.”</p><p>“I have to-“</p><p>“No, you do not have to do anything. You go down there, charm every noble and have them swoon over you and see if any lady catches your eye and interest. If not, so be it. You cannot force your heart, sweetheart. And if your mother asks, tell her you are not sure. There were no women who caught your interest. Tell her you will keep looking on your own, even if you don’t look,” she sighs softly and resumes to brushing his curls. “It’ll appease her and gives you time.” She focuses her brushstrokes on his lovelock next. “Now button up that vest up. I want to see the dashing gentleman I found in the garden staring at a sparrow one day at dawn,” she chuckles.</p><p>Harry swallows and rubs his eyes and forces himself to smile. Esther twists his lock and places it on his shoulder. “Thank you, Miss Esther. It means a lot to me, I will miss you terribly once you resign.”</p><p>He sits up straight and closes the gold buttons, hiding most of the white blouse. Esther tugs on the ruffles on its collar and places them artistically before readjusting his hair a little. “Look at that handsome studied nineteen-year-old young man, very handsome. Just try to have fun at the celebration, Harold. Do it for your sister,” she adds softly.</p><p>He nods and smoothes his vest out again, hands clammy. The day has had a toll on him. He was woken up at dawn, had a maid shave his face and he had a quick bath that was too cold for his liking. He barely had time for his morning oatmeal before he was whisked away to change into a saffron outfit and sit still until luncheon. His sister insisted they take the last portrait together as a family, of course with Alexander at her side. So now he has to stand beside his father at the centre of their family in the west wing drawing-room. He envies his sisters who were allowed to sit during the whole ordeal. He even eyed his smallest cousin in jealousy because the two-year-old was permitted to sleep in her mother’s lap.</p><p>After the painter had excused himself for the day he was dragged to his room where he had to take yet another bath because his mother did not want him to wear honeysuckle perfume for the evening (even though she had ordered him to apply it for the portrait session but who was he to complain about another welcomed bath. He never understood how other nobles would refrain from bathing for months on end. His skin felt itchy and clammy, unbearable, after a week.) So he cleaned himself again and haphazardly pulled his night tunic over his head when Esther knocked on his door to help him get ready for the afternoon and evening.</p><p>He gets up and lays a hand on the maid’s shoulder and he squeezes softly. “Thank you, truly. I would not know what to do without you, Esther.”</p><p>“Lose your noble head, dear.”</p><p>Harry chuckles and nods. “I believe so, too. You may leave. I will be down soon.” He reassures and watches the woman leave his chambers. He takes a deep breath and sits down at the vanity again. His reflection stares back at him. He licks his lips and opens a drawer, pulling his journal out. He flicks through the pages. His writing in the booklet is far from neat, seas away from cursive and the way a noble’s handwriting was supposed to look. But why would he need to write his own thoughts in cursive? It’s not anyone will read through his emotional perils and inner turmoil. He takes a pencil and writes a few sentences.</p><p>He looks back up once he deems he has written enough for now. Harry quickly rearranges his hair and places his lovelock again the artistic way Esther had draped it on his shoulder. His way leads downstairs and to the estate’s ballroom. His father and mother were there already, standing at the entrance. His mother was wearing a carmine red dress, the velvet fabric glistening. Ornate gold trims follow the seams of her sleeves and the hem of the skirt. He notices she wears her betrothal necklace. It was chunky; the big red jewel in the centre of gold matches her attire to the last detail. His father wears red velvet as well. Good to know that apparently, his mother made sure everyone knew who belongs together and who the hosts are.</p><p>He takes a stand next to his mother. “Make sure you are as much a gentleman you can be today, Harold. There is a lot of eligible women who are waiting for someone to propose.”</p><p>The young man suppresses a sigh. “I know mother. I will be on my best behaviour.”</p><p>The Lady Courtesy nods and quickly turns to the entrance when the first nobles are led to the ballroom. They all bow swiftly and exchange pleasantries. The two viscounts make their way to the prepared table with fruits and flowers to indulge in the treats. The family stands at the door for two hours, bowing and shaking hands, complimenting high hairdos and blinding jewellery. Harry finally is allowed to excuse himself and he walks into the crowd.</p><p>The maids and butlers have done marvellous work with the room. The mirrors that line the long wall across the windows are clean of dust and streaks. The gold ornaments surrounding them reflect the candlelight. The windows are clean, an abundance of flowers on each windowsill and free surface. There are candles spread across the room, ready to be lit once night makes its presence known. Violin and cello tunes fill his ears and he briefly glances at the eight musicians placed in the corner of a room. The grand piano finally is played. Before it just stood in the room and collected dust, seeing as no one in his family played the instrument. They were schooled in violin, cello and flute – except Elliot. The boy has shown and defended his interest in French horn and trumpet until his mother gave in and hired a tutor.   </p><p>“Your Honourable, I am so happy to finally talk to you.” Harry turns in the direction of the voice and searches the crowd. </p><p>“Lady Jael, it’s a pleasure to meet you again,” he greets. He knew the Lady a little. She just turned eighteen and her father was a Count a day’s ride way. Over the last few days, he had the task to walk her to her room after dinner, and he initially liked the woman. She was shy, that is for sure, but she was very well-read. They even had a small conversation about botany on one of their walks. But he could never imagine her as his wife, as the mother to his future children. Her black hair is draped in a high up-do, pearls and a golden comb adorning her head. She wears a dark blue dress and big earrings. </p><p>“Have you tasted the jelly at the table? Someone brought some imported goods and your cooks made a wonderful jelly from it,” she gushes and laces her fingers together in front of her belly. </p><p>Harry nods. “I believe you are talking about the oranges. The marquess of Hartington has brought an abundance of them as a gift to bless my sister’s new union,” he adds with a smile. </p><p>“I have never tasted anything like it,” the woman smiles. “Do you think he would be willing to share his imports with my father’s business as well?” </p><p>Harry smiles gently and nods: “I will see to ask him and praise your lands so he has no choice but to agree.” He bows slightly and walks to the table with food, thanking a waitron who hands him a glass of white wine. He eyes the copious spread in front of him. Mutton, lamb, bacon and veal were cooked to perfection and presented alongside jelly tartes, cheese, bread, butter with and without herbs and two pitchers of wine. He spots two oranges hidden between flowers. <em> Louis surely has brought a lot, it seems. </em> A smile graces his face, dimples showing. He takes a swig from his glass and sets it down, turning back to the nobles. Several tables have been scattered in the room, the middle and the space in front of the food table was left an open space to dance. A woman in a saffron dress approaches him and smiles at the man. </p><p>“Lady Elizabeth, how do you do,” he questions politely. The woman grins and answers with a brief ‘fine’. He clears his throat. He knows she wants something, considering her expecting glances. “Would you care to dance, Lady?” Her lips twitch up and she straightens her posture further. She probably thinks he would choose her to be his bride the upcoming year as she is the first he offers a dance at the event. </p><p>“I would be honoured to.”</p><p>He holds his hand out and she gently places hers in his grasp. The pair moves to a free area and they fall into a slow dance. One of his hands holds her smaller one and the other hand is lightly placed on her side. He can feel the boning of a corset beneath the linen fabric. Lady Elizabeth is a nice woman, he is sure. She seems educated enough to spark up some conversations and her mother has praised her as a class pianist. She was twenty, a few months older than Harry. </p><p>It’s uncommon for nobles to be single after the age of twenty. Most females would get betrothed at age seventeen; men were to be married with a child on the way by age twenty at the latest. Harry was eternally grateful his father has not arranged a match when Harry was still a boy. </p><p>Their feet are light as they carry the pair across the dance floor. Their steps are barely noticeable among the clicking of other people’s heels and the orchestra playing a modern waltz. He looks at his dancing figure in the mirror on side of the room. He looks like a vision of what his mother wants him to look. The Lady Elizabeth and he look good enough together, and their outfits complement each other’s nicely today, a mere coincidence. He can almost hear his mother gushing over the Lady’s family line of firstborn sons and how precious their children will be one day. He sighs inwardly, shoulders rising and dropping back down heavily. </p><p>The song ends and fades out, and Harry takes his hand off the woman’s side and bows lightly. “It was a pleasure sharing this dance with you.” The lady smiles and walks away and he is being whisked away into another dance. By the time his stomach growls he has shared a waltz with six other ladies in a total of eleven repeats. He bows to Lady Isbell and smiles when he sees a countess approach him with another young woman in tow. He quickly turns away and walks to the table with food to take a quick bite. He stuffs a bite of buttered bread into his mouth, finally satisfying his stomach and stopping it from devouring itself. </p><p>“How do you like your sister's festivities, Your Honourable?” </p><p>Harry snaps back up into a straight posture from where he was slouched before and turns around. Louis looks at him with twinkling eyes. The dim shine of the candles taints his skin in a golden tone. He looks ethereal. </p><p>“It is a successful party, thank you. It does not even feel like a celebration of my sister being betrothed but a matchmaking party for myself. If I could only get a few moments to myself to breath,” he mutters quietly. The other nobles must not know he does not want to be in their presence anymore. Louis laughs at his remark and folds his hands behind his back. </p><p>“I will be out on the balcony. Maybe someone can keep me company for a little while.”</p><p>Harry looks at him and grins. He watches as Louis nods his head and walks away through the room, joining an accumulation of older men at a table, laughing. He eats another bite of bread. A big hand is placed on his biceps and he flinches lightly before quickly gathering himself and straightening up again. “Your Honourable, I would like you to meet my Daughter, Lady Helena.” He swallows and nods, forcing a smile on his lips. </p><p>“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Helena.”</p><p>He has another two dances with the woman. She seems genuine, gentle and shy. Harry has not met her before so maybe she and her father have arrived just today before the festivities began. He cannot imagine settling down with her. As sweet as she is, she is also passive. He would try to make hushed conversation during the dance about what she likes to do and all she answered was ‘play the piano and listen to a maid play’. Granted, the piano is a great instrument, adding weight to a piece of music or lifting it up. But just sitting at a piano all day seems rather bland to the earl to-be. </p><p>She finally releases the tight grip she had on his hand for the last dance and they bow to each other. He quickly navigates through the groups of royals and tables and slips out into the hallway. His shoulders sag down, tension leaving his body. “Harold, why are you out here? You should be mingling with the others.” He swallows and turns to his mother. Her arms are tightly crossed in front of her chest, neck long and chin held high. She seizes him up and down with a raised brow. How Harry hates that look, that stance. She always changes her posture to this when she disagreed with something. Harry remembers quite a few instances where he was scolded for things he did not think were worth scolding him for, and she stood like this. Over the years the frown lines around her mouth have become more prominent. She has a more authoritarian aura to her, less motherly. </p><p>“Mother, I could ask you the same,” he tries to silence her scruples, but to no avail. She presses her lips together tighter, and he swears he can see her jaw tick in aggravation. <em> Think. Think. Think of something quickly or you will never get a moment to yourself until you tell her who you marry.  </em>“I was going to relieve myself, mother. I will only be a few minutes. I promise.” His voice is firm yet calm, and his lie seems to calm her down. She bites a ‘be quick’ and enters the ballroom again. </p><p>Harry huffs and throws his head back and closing his eyes for a moment. He then walks through the halls towards the balcony Louis said he would be at. The dark wooden ceilings tower over him, loom above his figure like a shadow he cannot escape even when everything is light. He hoped Louis would still be there. Harry did not know, he was very late and the air outside is rather cold. </p><p>He pushes open the door and looks around. He has to squint to make out any refined shapes in the dark. The fencing made from light limestone reflects the moonlight back. It’s a haunting scenery. The birds that usually filled the air with their singsongs were quiet, no cicadas were chirping. He could not even make out an occasional neigh travelling from the stables. It was eerily quiet with the rustling of wind between leaves his only companion out there. His shoulders drop and he casts his eyes toward the floor. <em> I should get back to the ballroom, then. I cannot make mother be cross with me any further.  </em>  Maybe it <em>was </em>time for him to step up into the role he was born to be in. There are dozens of willing women who would be elated to have him ask for their hand in marriage. </p><p>He could settle for Lady Jael. They have botany and education as a common interest, at the very least. He can practically hear <em> ‘good match, Harold’ </em> in his mother’s voice in the back of his mind already. </p><p>He shakes his head and frowns, shaking his doubts, and he turns to the door. There is a silhouette visible behind the glass panes and he jumps back a step with wide eyes. The door slowly opens without noise and heels click on the stone. “I was afraid you would not come.” </p><p>Harry slowly lowers his hand from his chest, his heart slowing down as he processes the initial fright. “And I was afraid you were tired of waiting for me so you left,” he whispers. He is not sure why he whispers, there are no secret intentions spoken, no hidden plans voiced out. So why are they whispering? </p><p>“I could never. I may have failed to keep you from being, plainly said, ambushed by women tonight. But I promised you a few quiet moments alone,” the marquess explains softly. His voice is raspy. Harry’s is as well. They have mingled and conversed with plenty of people tonight and Harry chuckles at the thought of not being able to speak tomorrow at all. If he was feeling like this, the guests and his parents might feel the same way. Maybe the day would be filled with a comfortable silence. He would not mind that. </p><p>They are on the balcony that is just towards the back of the ballroom. If Harry strains his ears he might be able to hear the symphonies the orchestra gives to the party. </p><p>“Do you think you have another dance in you?” He looks Louis up and down. The dark blue velvet attire shimmers black in the night. His feet hurt, his back is sore and he could use a bath. Harry slowly rolls his shoulders and nods. “Who did you bring,” he sighs. He was not looking forward to yet another dance where perfume suffocated him. </p><p>The older man smiles. “Just myself, your Honourable. May <em> I </em> have this dance?” </p><p>Harry blanches and he is sure his mouth falls open. “I.. Louis, you are a man.” The statement causes him to look down. “Seems like I am. And I am a man who wishes to dance with you,” he repeats with a gentle voice and hopeful eyes. He takes a step towards Harry and extends his hand. “May I?”</p><p>“I-“ he swallows thickly, the lump in his throat still prominent, “I would not know how.”</p><p>Louis takes his hand, cold skin against cold skin and steps in front of the man. He takes Harry’s other hand that was dangling by his side and lifts it to his side, resting it where his hose meets his vest. “You lead, I follow.” </p><p>Harry looks at him. His hair is shiny, the moon reflecting the full moon leaving a grey tint. His skin seems oh so soft and clean. His lips are shiny and Harry wants to run his thumb over them to see if they are as soft as they look. He squirms and looks to the door. He feels a heavy hand on his shoulder and he turns back to the lad before him. His eyes are expecting, something, anything, His eyes are dark blue now, dark as the seas he is too scared to explore in fear of heavy storms. But there is brightness behind the dark, a light that fights the dark and lightens up his world. “I am tired,” he murmurs. </p><p>“Then let me make sure you stay awake, dearest one. Grant me this one dance.” Louis squeezes his hand. Oddly enough, the feeling grounds him. He slowly nods and starts moving into a slow waltz, slower than usual and what was deemed appropriate. </p><p>His calves burn with every move and step he takes as the two men sway to the quiet beat of their own breaths. Harry sighs and he drops his shoulders. He closes his eyes only for a moment as he rolls his head in a fruitless attempt to rid himself of the heaviness of his own head on the neck. Louis takes his hand off the man’s shoulder and rests it on the back of his head. He gently presses against it. Harry holds it higher. </p><p>“No. Dearest, just trust me,” he whispers, his voice almost getting lost underneath his breath. He feels the man apply pressure to his head again and he relents. Louis guides his head lower and turns it, pushing down lightly so his cheek rests against the crown of the marquess’ head. He swallows and stumbles a little when Louis also steps closer to him and effectively closes the little distance that was left between them. Their feet stop moving. They still sway, dance alone. Harry lowers his arm. It feels heavy and he is sure it will be sore tomorrow once he wakes. Louis, to his surprise, does not let go of his hand. He continues to hold them together, ground Harry with frequent gentle squeezes. Goosebumps rise on his skin as Louis's hand strokes his shoulder.</p><p>The air around them is cold, but he feels oh so warm. His hand is warm where his skin touches Louis’s, his chest burns with heat where he feels the marquess’ chest against his own. He closes his eyes again and enjoys the warmth he has only ever felt in summer – here the sun would caress his skin where he sat on the balcony or in the saddle. He sighs in delight. “I needed this moment alone. Thank you, Louis,” he mumbles with his cheek squished against Louis’s head.</p><p>“I will always be a companion in your solitude, dearest.” Silence. “We should get back inside, we have been out here for a while. I’m sure everyone is looking for you.”</p><p>Harry nods and stands back up. He looks back to Louis one last time and smiles, dimples on display. Then the two head back inside. </p><p>○○○</p><p>The days after celebrations at the estate are hectic. He prefers the build-up, the buzzing excitement of nobles and employees alike. Now the whole main house is filled with workers carrying flowers, candles, while others drag crates and chests to the carriages lined up outside. </p><p>Harry is yet again wearing red – linen this time – and he has his hair in a sleek low ponytail. He is thanking Lord and Lady Greston for attending their ball and promises to write letters soon to further discuss Harry’s involvement in their horse racing business when another carriage drives up to the grand steps. The cart is a sleek black, and Harry can make out the engraving of a poppy bloom on the doors. <em> Louis. </em></p><p>He turns around as he hears the man says his thanks to Harry’s parents. He smiles shyly at the man and nods. “It was an honour having you attend, Lord.” </p><p>Louis’s eyes are bright blue and his smile is bright. “It was an honour to attend. The atmosphere is something any other party usually lacks, but this week was phenomenal.” He bows lightly. “I believe we agreed to exchange letters to discuss the involvement of your family in our import and export business?” </p><p>Harry’s eyebrows shoot up, but he swiftly collects himself and nods. “I cannot wait to discuss it. The fruits you brought were phenomenal. Everyone was gushing about them at dinner. Thank you, my Lord.” </p><p>Louis bites his lower lip and grins, nodding once again before climbing into his carriage. He waves through the window and the cart starts to move. </p><p>And as Harry watches Louis wave through the window with a dulled smile he realizes, he might be Icarus after all. And like Icarus, he knows falling for the sun would end in agony, but he was willing to fly closer regardless. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The poem he was reading is "the unfading beauty" by Thomas Carew</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>And we are in modern times everyone!</p><p>Enjoy &lt;3</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry pushes the door to his apartment open, ushering Artie inside in front of him. The dog skids on the clean laminate flooring as he shakes his fur. Harry scowls and closes the door behind him. He quickly takes off his dripping jacket and hangs it on the coat rack before he bends down to rid himself of his shoes. He scrunches his nose and pulls off his soaked trainers. He had not been planning on staying outside for that long. The news said there would be a storm sweep over London city so he only planned to take Artie outside for a short walk around the block. That short run quickly escalated to a two-hour jog and a break in his favourite bakery. By the time he finished his piece of carrot cake and he stepped outside thick raindrops were pelting down on the ground and hurried people. So he ran back to the nearest metro and had to take the train to his neighbourhood. And then run another ten minutes to reach his building. </p><p>He peels off his wet socks and squeezes his cold feet. The skin was wrinkly from being in a damp environment for a while. Harry looks towards the mutt in front of him. Artie sits in front of him with a tilted head. </p><p>“Yeah yeah, I know. C’mon, bath time,” he murmurs and walks into the bathroom. The dog follows suit. He places a rubber mat in his spacious tub and turns on the water. “Stay,” he says without looking at his canine companion before he walks to the bedroom. He takes off his wet shirt and trouser and throws them in his hamper. Harry looks through his drawers and pulls out a pair of black joggers and an old ACDC shirt and puts them on. </p><p>By the time he is back in the bathroom the water has reached a nice height and he turns off the stream. He makes quick work of scrubbing Artie clean. He towels the dog off and pets his head. “Good boy,” he coos. </p><p>Harry cleans the tub again and walks into the living room. He turns the heating up a little and settles on his black couch. He smiles softly as his dog sniffs his bed and gets comfortable on it. It took a while but Harry finally taught Artie that he is not allowed on the sofa or chairs unless he was called up. Harry was content. He had a nice and spacious flat in the heart of Mayfair on Mount Row. It took a while to find a flat he liked. The two-bedroom apartment was spacious and close to Hyde Park, the big windows let natural light shine in just the right way. He brought the flat in two instalments and he still chuckles at the look the realtor gave him when he said he would pay the total of seven million pounds within a year of signing the contract. He had furnished the flat in neutral colours and added colourful accent walls and artworks to make the space his own. He also had a few memorabilia from the past and pictures scattered around the space. And of course some dog things for Artie. </p><p>He found the mutt years ago on the street at a casern after a night of celebrating and drinking. In hindsight he should’ve shooed the dog away – you never know what diseases strays have. But he stumbled home and cuddled the pup through the night. When morning came, he could not throw the pup out, too sweet was his company after months of living alone. So he was allowed to stay and gave him a name. </p><p>Harry picks up his phone from the coffee table and scrolls through his messages and emails for a while. He gets annoyed by a client he had dubbed pesky Peter. The man told him to handle it and just contact him if they ran into budget problems. But instead of letting him handle the planning of how to design his house’s interior, he spammed Harry with mails and calls at least twice a week on changes he wanted to incorporate before the designer sent him the fixed models and price lists. Harry usually does not judge people or wish them harm, but in this case, it was good the man was not married. His partner would have to put up with so much, he would pity them. </p><p>Harry puts the device down with a sigh and stretches his arms above his head. Saturdays were boring. He could work his way through the mails that keep piling up in his inbox or even go out for a drink. But the weather is, quite frankly, shit so he decides against getting a drink. He turns on the TV and watches a new episode of Bake off when his phone rings. </p><p>“Yeah, Styles?”</p><p>He hears a chuckle on the other line. “Ew, stop being so formal with me, brother dearest.”</p><p>A bright smile spreads across his face and he sits up straighter. “Hi, Maggie. How are you, love?” </p><p>“I’m doing fine. I was just thinking and wanted to see if you still have that lovely spacious empty guest bedroom of yours,” she says. Harry can hear the smile in her voice. </p><p>“Well, let me check,” he says and moves on the couch to cause some noise. “Nope, looks like it packed its bags and went on a journey of self-discovery in the Alps.” </p><p>“Harry,” his sister huffs. “You are an idiot. Anyway, just wanted to let you know I have to be in London in two days and I am going to crash at your place.” </p><p>“Since when have you gotten so demanding,” he teases. His sister used to be so shy, always blushing and she barely even picked fights with Harry when they were younger. </p><p>“Since the 80s, keep up.” </p><p>A chuckle escapes his mouth. “Yeah, I’ll make sure to have the room ready for you. Any special wishes, my Lady?” He raises a brow and grins. He knew his sister hated the nickname. </p><p>“Yeah, an icepack for your ass once I’m finished with you for calling me a Lady.” There’s no viciousness behind her threat, but there never is. Maggie might act all tough but she was never one for violence either. </p><p>“Love you too, sister. Be safe.”</p><p>“Go choke,” she huffs with a laugh and the call ends. </p><p>He gets up and walks to the guest bedroom. For most of the year, it’s unoccupied. The sheets and pillows are stripped of their covers and Harry pulls a fresh pair out of the closet and starts putting them on. He fluffs the pillows and puts a small water bottle on the nightstand. Artie trots in after him and paws at his foot. He bends down and scratches the animal between the ears. </p><p>“Look, boy, you’re pretty much dry now,” he pets him. His beige fur is soft against his palm. “C’mon, let’s make some dinner,” he mutters softly and straightens up to make his way to the kitchen; he pulls out everything he needs for a good stir-fry. He puts on some Abba and goes to chopping. </p><p>Cooking was something that he used to hate. It was something he was not used to doing, after all. He always had cooks and maids to prepare him two warm meals a day and tea in the afternoon. But once he was forced to learn it, it became one of his favourite things to do. He had stressful weeks and the time he spent cooking was a time he used to calm down by himself, and he always had a delicious meal at the end. But by god he might be old, but he did not eat everything. If a dish got mushrooms or olives or pickles in it, he will not touch it. Niall always teases him for it. <em> “You’re such a good cook but can’t handle a piece of champignon?” </em> He chuckles softly while cutting some onion. </p><p>A high-pitched chime interrupts the chorus of ‘Knowing me, knowing you’. He wipes his hands on a towel he has laid over his left shoulder and picks up the device. </p><p><strong> From Niall:  </strong>Wanna go to the museum today?</p><p>He shakes his head.</p><p><strong> To Niall:  </strong>You realize its raining or are ya waterproof? </p><p><strong> From Niall:  </strong>Umbrellas exist. Tomorrow then?</p><p><strong> To Niall:  </strong>Only if it’s not raining. Artie gets nervous when it storms and hes alone </p><p><strong> From Niall:  </strong>Weather news gave clearance. Museum date, bestie!</p><p><strong> To Niall:  </strong>Didnt know you out of everyone are gay. What will Em say? Poor darling </p><p><strong> From Niall:  </strong>See you tomorrow. Picking you up at 10</p><p>He smiles and finishes his meal, scarfing it down while his dog stares at him with big begging eyes. One thing Harry was not able to correct was the begging for food. Granted, Artie doesn’t jump on him anymore to snatch food off the fork but he was constantly pawing at his leg or whine pathetically with wide eyes. He smiles and feeds the animal once he was finished. </p><p>“Such a baby,” he mumbles. </p><p>○○○</p><p>Harry huffs and sets the suitcase down. “Did I not tell you to text me if you came earlier?” Maggie grins and pats his bag. </p><p>“I would have but you see, I had a terrible phone reception on the plane. And I love spending time with you, we never meet up anymore,” she pouts.</p><p>“And whose fault is that?”</p><p>Harry settled down quickly. Over the decades and centuries, he learned how to settle without a problem. He did not need to see the world to be content. Maggie, on the other hand, was always on the move. One day she was in Italy for a fashion show she wanted to attend, and the next day she leaves for the south pole because she always wanted to see penguins in the flesh. </p><p>He dragged her suitcase to the guest room. Artie merely lifted his head when the two entered the flat. “Anyway, I’m off to meet a friend. Artie should be fine until the afternoon.” </p><p>“Uh, do I know the friend?”</p><p>“Niall. I’ve texted you about him some time ago I think.” </p><p>She shrugs and nods. “Have fun and use a rubber.” </p><p>Harry snorts and shakes his head. “He’s got a partner. That fucker is the most non-homosexual male I have ever seen.” </p><p>She looks at him with a bored expression. “Then drag him to a gay bar and tell him you want to get some.” </p><p>“Magdalene Maud Eugenie. Stop talking about my sex life. It’s weird as fuck, you’re younger than me,” he chuckles.  </p><p>“Won’t stop me from it. I had –“ “Ok I’m off. Food’s in the fridge.” </p><p>Harry quickly exits his flat and closes the door behind him. He loves his sister to pieces but <em>god </em>she needs to stop asking if he had gotten any dick recently. </p><p>She was shocked when he told her he liked exclusively men back in 1850-something. She had stopped responding to his letters for nearly two decades and he thought he had lost her. But then she showed up to his manor one day, apologizing. They have talked for hours. And now she frequently tries to set him up with ‘interesting candidates’ from all over the world. </p><p>Somewhere in his phone, he’s got the phone number from a guy from Iceland. </p><p>He takes the metro to the museum. It’s been a while since he went to any. He loves them. Sometimes he remembers events that were written about on the information boards and he reminisces. </p><p>The cart is full so he stands. There are two small children and their mother, or sister or babysitter even, standing next to him. He suppresses a chuckle when the younger child clings to his leg when the cart stops at a station. He looks down briefly and smiles at the kid. Once he arrives he pulls his phone out of his pocket. </p><p>From Niall: Running late a few. Missed the fcking train. </p><p>He chuckles and walks to a bakery he knows nearby. He takes a chocolate chip muffin and a fudge brownie to go as well as a tea. He takes a seat on the grand stairs leading up to the museum entrance. The muffin was mediocre, sadly. But harry usually goes to that café chain for the tea. They make it just right and never burn the leaves. </p><p>Starbucks had the habit of burning their teas. It’s common knowledge that different teas need different brewing temperatures, but they seem too fine for this. Maybe that is their way of bullying customers to invest in their mediocre coffee experience instead. </p><p>“Thank god you’re here.” Harry looks up and into his friend’s face. Niall’s face was red. He snorts. </p><p>“Did you run or what.”</p><p>“Yes.” The man takes the paper bag out of Harry’s hand without asking and takes a bite off the brownie. He moans. “My favourite.” </p><p>“You’re welcome. You don’t have to rush for me, got all the time in the world,” he muses before he takes a sip. </p><p>“Stop saying that, makes me stressed even more. C’mon now.” The man climbs up the stairs to the entrance. Harry quickly stands and follows him. </p><p>“Why does <em>me </em>having all the time in the world make <em>you </em>nervous. How does that work?”</p><p>“Because I have been procrastinating writing a paper for months and my publisher is breathing down my neck.” </p><p>“Still aren’t finished? I remember you boasting how it was such an easy topic.” </p><p>“Don’t be a dick now.” Niall purchases two tickets for them. </p><p>“What is the exhibit about anyway?”</p><p>“Love through the centuries. I wanna bring Em here but I wanted to see if it’s any good first.” </p><p>“So I’m your guinea pig? A bit mean if you ask me.” They walk up the stairs to the second floor, where the exhibit would be. </p><p>“And I remember you crying to the Notebook and over some queer novel. I figured you’d be down for some romance.” The glass doors are open so they enter the open space. “Starts with cave paintings and goes until the cold war. A friend of mine worked to collect all the pieces and she said it was a pain in the arse. But she’s happy it came together this well.”</p><p>The two start their way around the room, stopping at a few cases. Prehistorics weren’t Niall’s expertise but he recalls a few facts he still remembers from college and his apprenticeships. They move slowly through the exhibit. The walls are a clean white and the floors are dark wood, but they make no sound as Harry, Niall and other visitors of the premises move from exhibit to exhibit. The piece in front of him is simple – the copy of a cave wall and a scribbled painting in dull red are protected by a clean glass case before it. He looks around and watches a group of tourists stare at a painting as they listen to an audio device the museum provides for unguided tours. </p><p> The two men slowly walk towards another part of the room dedicated to the 1600s. <em> Finally something familiar,  </em>he giggles in his head. They move toward a row of paintings and Harry skims over the info board next to the humongous picture frame. </p><p>“What was their obsession with big pictures, anyway? It’s like they were half-blind,” Niall chuckles beside them. </p><p>He looks over the canvas. “Actually," he starts, "it was popular believe and custom to boast. The bigger the picture, the more wealth you had. Especially with the amount of red, gold and purple they used here. They were expensive colours to come by for artists, so if someone wanted to say ‘I’m richer than you’, they would order huge paintings and incorporate a lot of red and purple into it and hang it in a central place of their estate or house for everyone to see,” he mutters. The canvas <em>is huge</em>, and the painting was done in oils, a thick gilded frame surrounding the canvas. The motive looked exquisite. The man and woman wore red the four children at their feet wore purple and gold. </p><p>“Now how the fuck do you know that,” Niall asks and he widens his eyes slightly. </p><p>“Uh, I watched a documentary a while ago when I couldn’t sleep. Talked about art and stuff,” he shrugs with tense shoulders. </p><p>Niall nods slowly and looks up toward the painting again. “Send me the name, will ya? I wanna impress Em with my extensive knowledge.”</p><p>He swallows and nods. “I’ll try to find it again, no promises though.”</p><p>Niall thankfully believes him and they move away from the painting to a different one. They discuss the composition and Harry is genuinely surprised at how interested Niall seems about the art aspect of the paintings. </p><p>They met each other a few winters ago at an ice skating rink. Harry as well as Niall was alone there. It was his second time on the ice and he was glad Niall helped him balance on the skates. The first time he dared to enter the ice did not go very well. And after he once almost froze to his second death in a pond a few decades ago he had avoided skating or frozen bodies of water like the plague. </p><p>Niall poked fun at his uncoordinated legs but had his arm firmly around his middle and a hand on his elbow so he would not fall. After that, they stayed in touch and got closer. </p><p>The pair moves towards a big casing of smaller objects in the middle of the room. He admires the broaches and the gold combs behind the glass and grins. He gifted Isabel a similar comb when she turned thirty back in the day. Heart heavy he moves to the next object. That's when his heart plummets to his knees.</p><p>Harry has always loved museums, historic objects or fake medieval markets. But, by God, he did not expect a piece of his own past stare back at him from the glass encasing. A letter, to be exact. A letter that was never meant to be read.  </p><p>○○○</p><p>He climbs off the black stallion’s back and pats his breeches to get the wrinkles out. “Your lordship, the letters have arrived.”</p><p>He nods towards the young man and walks towards the main building. The wind has been blowing harsh the last few days. It almost knocked the newborn foal over. He enters the house and runs a hand through his hair to rid it of tangles. Once he is in his chambers he changes his black leather boots and black linen for a dark blue set and shoes without heels. The earl sits at his vanity and carefully ties his hair back, making sure each strand lays in place. He looks at the stack of seventeen letters held together by a thin yarn string.</p><p>He feels as if they almost stare back.</p><p>He opens the knot and flicks through them slowly. Most are from other nobles discussing business. There are two letters from farmers – he deals with them first. He tried to be as humane and genuine as possible when it came to his subjects. He still follows his father’s advice, naturally, to make sure they do not stomp over him and mistake his kindness for weakness.</p><p>He reads them both and writes answers slowly, closing them with a wax seal and setting them to the side. He takes the letters concerning business and walks to his study, settling at the desk. There are many thick books strewn on the surface. He pulls a brown book towards him and looks over the numbers.</p><p>He takes hours to formulate his replies. A maid enters when the sun has set and places a tray with food in front of him. “Your dinner, my Lord. Roast potatoes, bread, butter, veal and tea without milk or honey.” He nods without lifting his head. “Thank you, Lady Katherine.” He hears heels click against the floor and the door close. He sighs and pushes the letters to the side to ear quickly before it becomes cold. Once his stomach is almost upsettingly full he wipes his hands on a towel and resumes to writing the letters.</p><p>There is only one left and he slowly picks it up. The white wax seal stares back at him in the candlelit room. He swallows and carefully opens it, reading Louis’s elegant writing. The first part is business as usual. But the last few sentences are always for Harry and Harry’s eyes only. He breathes deeply.</p><p>
  <em>“I have had business further in the north and every waking second I had, was spent wishing I had your warm hands to keep me from the cold. I might have to buy a suitable carriage horse again that will make a trip to the south coast well.”</em>
</p><p>The two have been exchanging letters frequently, so once a month Harry awaited a letter with a delicate wax seal. He licks his lips slowly and smiles at subtle compliments. He carefully takes a fresh piece of paper and his pen.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Dearest Marquess Louis Cavendish of Hartington, </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Firstly I wish to thank you for the well-wishes for my sister’s first child. She was elated to hear you have sent your congratulations. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>The latest crate with oranges has arrived well, and the cooks have tried juicing them like you recommended. It was a delight! I am grateful to have you as a friend and partner in business. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>To answer your question from the previous letter, my mother is doing well. She still wears black daily though the funeral was over a year ago. But she has started to go to the greenhouse again to tend to her flowers. She is getting better. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Maud is doing well, too. She gave birth to a beautiful girl. Her name is Alberta. I am in love with her as much s I am with Elliott and Evangeline. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>He takes a moment to think. He longs for Louis’s companionship dearly. He longs to have conversations with the marquess, he would even take a ride in silence. He should know. He has a right to know!</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>It was hard not having you at the estate for my cousin’s christening. I missed your presence. It reminded me of your first and only visit to our lands a few years ago. There were many Ladies requesting a dance, and rather forward fathers. One even presented a written down family tree to show the history of firstborn sons. He was talking delicates at a child’s admission to the church! With the priest present, nonetheless!</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I shared a lot of dances, Lady Jael was there again. She is not married yet, but she seemed happy – truly happy. But no waltz I danced was comparable to our waltz on the balcony that night. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I must admit, I have begun to miss your presence not only in dances I danced, but in every book about the Greek I read and every orange I taste. Ember had a foal recently, a filly. Even she reminds me of you these days. She is reckless, but will not leave me alone once she has laid eyes on me. She is so wild on the meadow but nudges me oh so gently. I named her Pyrois. Mother did not agree, it was not regal enough for her. Not the name of a hunting champion. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I hope I am not too brash when I say I miss you.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I was at the coast again. It was cold and the skies were as dull as my mood. As if God sensed I was not whole and missed you with me. It felt wrong not having you there with me. I had an orange. It was not as sweet as the one you first shared with me. It might have been sweeter if we were together watching the tide. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I held the hands and kissed the knuckles of a dozen noblewomen, yet yours was the only embrace I longed to feel. I miss you dearly. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I hope we meet again, soon. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Yours truthfully, </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Earl Harold Aubigny of Arundel</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>He reads the letter and sighs. He lifts his head to rub his eye – the room was almost too dark to see properly and he is tired. He carefully folds the letter and stuffs it in an envelope, sealing it with a wax stamp of his family crest. It was a lion and a crown, both surrounded by laurels.</p><p>He reads over the marquess’s letter again and stokes over the bumpy seal. His had a crown and a defined poppy. It was simple, but regal and pretty.</p><p>In the end a rider approaches the estate four days later to collect any letters the nobles or workers might have; and Harry sends a total of sixteen letters on their way. The one – the most important one – he holds back.</p><p>○○○</p><p>He forces the lump in his throat away. His hands are clammy so he quickly wipes them off on his jeans. </p><p>“What are ya looking at? Ohhh,” his friend chuckles, “well glad to see it’s inclusive.” </p><p>Harry quickly reads over the little paper next to the letter. </p><p>
  <em> Est. 1658 – handwritten letter: A letter between earl Harold Aubigny of Arundel and Marquess Louis Cavendish of Hartington. Discovered: 2004 by Giulia Metture at the Arundel Castle Library. Donated to the British Historian Society in 2017.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The letter was originally sealed with wax, indicating it has never been sent.  </em>
</p><p>“Right, yeah, great.” He quickly takes his phone out to take a picture of the letter. Fuck, he had hidden it so well. Probably should have burned it instead. If this letter of his is here, what else might they have discovered in – fuck – 2004. He takes a quiet shuddering breath before they move towards the next exhibit – another love letter. Not by him, but by Alexander to his sister. He looks away and walks to another painting on the wall. </p><p>It feels wrong to read a love letter addressed to his sister. Invading her privacy like this after everything she had gone through is wrong on all levels. </p><p>The two walk through the rooms. Niall talks softly, and more animated the closer they come the 1800s and the 19th century – his area of specialization. He tries to listen to Niall ramble about random events and customs of that time. He truly tries. But it’s hard when there is a piece of his past meant to stay hidden is displayed to the public just around a corner. </p><p>He tunes the other man out at some point, blankly staring at whatever piece is in front of him. He has kept a meticulous eye on all his personal belongings through <em> centuries </em> but this bloody piece of paper is what slipped his mind.  </p><p>The day is slow and they walk out of the museum at 4 pm. </p><p>“See you later. Em makes a rad stir-fry tonight and I’m in charge of dessert and you know how they get.” </p><p>Harry nods lightly. “Yeah. Better not be late, eh? See you later.” The men part ways and when Harry enters his flat he drops his shoulders down. “Fuck.” </p><p>“What, ‘fuck that was a good hook-up’ or ‘fuck I’m sore’?” </p><p>He startles and looks up to his sister leaning in the doorway to the living room. He opens his mouth, but Maggie is faster. “You know what? I actually don’t want to know.”</p><p>He huffs and kicks off his trainers, the shoes hitting the wall lightly. “No, I fucked up. Well, past-me fucked up.” </p><p>The woman chuckled and returns to the sofa, Harry can do nothing but follow. They might talk rarely, sometimes years without direct contact go by, but she was always there for him. He falls down on the cushions next to her. “Artie, come here boy,” he coos and the dog jumps up the couch and settles on his lap. He gently runs a hand across his fur. </p><p>“Talk to Maggie, brother dear.” </p><p>He snorts. “You sound like one of those telemarketers you see on the telly at night.” She lightly kicks him and he smiles lightly. “Remember your, Uhm, betrothal party?” </p><p>She raises a neat brow and leans her head on the backrest. “Be more specific. I had four.” </p><p>“First one, to Alexander.” Harry looks over to her and sees her eyes gloss over. He learned that Alexander had been Maud’s ‘the one’. Her true love. Maybe that’s why she was never fully settled after he passed. She had lost her true love early in her eternity. He carefully pulls her into his side. “Remember the marquess of Hartington attending? The one who brought oranges,” he questions. She shakes her head and sighs. </p><p>“That’s fine. Anyway... He was the first man, or person ever, I felt a connection with. We wrote letters – because the bastard never visited. And I was dumb, careless, idiotic.” He shrugs. His heart had not stopped beating wildly behind his chest, his neck feels warm and his cheeks are likely red from embarrassment. </p><p>“And, the last letter I wrote was very,” he waves a hand in the air before he resumes to petting the dog, “very in love maybe. Whatever, it was more or less me admitting I want him with me and I love him.”</p><p>“Uh, was that why mum was so mad with you?”</p><p>He snorts and looks to the ceiling. “No, that was because I did not raise the taxes one year after the famine was over. <em> They have food and enough money now, time for them to pay up what they missed the last two years, </em>” he mocks her with a high pitched voice. His sister laughs. </p><p>“Sounds just like her.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he sighs. “And I never sent the letter. Sealed it and all, but never gave it to a messenger. I hid it on top of a bookshelf in the library. Well,” Harry trails off. Artie squirms in his lap and climbs next to him. He settles with his head on Harry’s thigh. </p><p>“Well, some historian found it. In 2004. It’s in a fucking museum, out of all places now. An exhibition about love through time or some shit.” </p><p>“Some shit? Since when do you badmouth history, mister ‘I went to university so much I technically spend half a decade in a library’.” </p><p>“Since my literal gay awakening is on display on a pretty red fabric in the public,” he groans. “There is also a letter from Alexander to you.” She tenses in his hold. “I didn’t read it. Didn’t feel right.” </p><p>It’s quiet for a while. </p><p>Artie’s fur is soft beneath his fingertips and he closes his eyes. </p><p>“He was your Alexander, wasn’t he?” </p><p>Her voice is quiet. If he didn’t have excellent hearing he would have mistaken her words for a gust of wind. He swallows the lump in his throat and nods. “He was my Alexander.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's a long one, everybody!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The evenings are slow for the siblings. They watched movies and read old diaries. They ignored the elephant in the room. </p><p>“Harry I’m bored,” Maggie huffs. </p><p>“Well, what do you want to do? We can go to the gym, or the library, maybe to the zoo or-“ “I will smack you if you keep talking.” </p><p>He stares at her. </p><p>“You could paint me? I haven’t gotten a good portrait in <em> ages </em>,” the woman stresses. </p><p>He takes his phone, opening the camera app. “I know, it must be so hard not having anything to get a portrait of you – oh wait.” He turns his phone screen to her, showing her a picture he had just taken. “It exists already, has for quite a few years, too.”</p><p>She kicks him with no real force behind the action. “Shut the fuck up and paint me. I actually saw a fucking painting of yours in a Museum in Amsterdam a while ago. I want a portrait.”</p><p>He frowns. “Which one?” </p><p>“Dunno, with horses in it,” she shrugs. “Now get your damn oils and paint me like one of your French girls.” </p><p>He pretends to gag, but still rises from the loveseat. “There are two things wrong, sister. I’ve never been to France other than in the wars, and I unquestionably don’t do anything with women.” </p><p>He pulls an easel and a canvas out of his storage room and sets it up. “Well, you wanna change my Lady, or will it be a portrait of you lazing on my couch,” he mocks as he prepares his brushes and some graphite sticks. </p><p>“Nah, lazing is perfect. Way more comfortable,” her giggle rings through the room. </p><p>He carefully goes to work. </p><p>Harry had dozens of occupations during his lifetime, that’s common knowledge. Someone over 300 years old is bound to get bored if they were to do the same thing forever. One of his favourite careers was as a painter. </p><p>Back in his first lifetime, he was interested in how they worked, how much skill and intricacy went into a portrait. He had hated sitting for them, but he loved to look at them. Over time, once he had passed the title of Earl to Isabel’s oldest son Elliott and left their estate to pretend to have a son and pass away, he started to become more and more interested in the art of painting. </p><p>He had started with easy sketches of mother nature’s gifts and bodies. Once skilled he moved to oils and portraits. Ever since the 18th century, he painted his own self-portraits by sitting in front of a mirror for hours. </p><p>The two siblings sit in silence for two whole days, only moving to get a snack or to relieve themselves. </p><p>He sighs and nods, setting his brush down. “Done, Maggie.” </p><p>The woman gets up and stretches her limbs, grinning as she looks over Harry’s shoulder. “Looks perfect. Thank you.”</p><p>“You’re welcome,” he gets up from his stool and rolls his head around, muscles stiff and spine almost crackling. “You’re worse than the King, he wasn’t as much or a tyrant back when he commissioned me.”</p><p>She flicks his earlobe and he pushes her hand away with a giggle. She had done that when he was a child. “You do it because you love me, brat. Now, what is for-“ she looks at the clock above the fireplace “-dinner?”</p><p>“I can make some spinach.” </p><p>The two cook side by side as well while talking about their previous adventures. Maggie was talking about her holiday in Rio and how she went skydiving there, and Harry complained about a client at work. </p><p>At one point a few days later he takes Artie outside for a walk through Hyde Park. The pup drags him as it leans into the leash. </p><p>It’s a cold night without stars. The light pollution of the city always keeps the universe hidden from his very eyes, unless he takes a trip to his hometown. Harry’s always had a thing for evenings and the night. As earl he would be up way past sunset and stand on the balcony, staring at the sky. When he was a noble he would go for long rides nightly only to wake up with tired eyes and a sore body. When he had to hide in the trenches the nights were a welcome time as no one forced them across no-man’s-land. </p><p>And when he was a painter he had loved to paint during the night. Some canvasses were from random flowers illuminated by the moon. He loved them the most. </p><p>Harry has had a lot of hobbies and occupations during his years, and sure there were more to come in the rest of his eternity. He was a painter and wrote sonnets. He was into botany and has found comfort in sewing and needlepoint. </p><p>The nights always brought him in a sense of serenity. The world was just quiet, calm – and no expectations weigh him down. During the day he had the task to play pretend – play his part in hiding his species to not arouse suspicion. But during the night, he could be himself and indulge in things and activities that were not fit for a fisherman, a soldier or an Earl. </p><p>He follows the gravel path through the park slowly. There aren’t too many people around – it is 11 pm after all. He hears the crunching of boots before he hears the voice. </p><p>“Well, well, well, haven’t seen you in a while.” </p><p>He smiles and keeps walking. “You are shit at sneaking up on someone, you know that?”</p><p>The person scoffs. “Shut up, I’m great.” They follow him, carefully catching up to his long strides. </p><p>“Freddy, I heard you stomping about from the other end of the park, and smelled you from even further.”</p><p>“Yeah, haven’t showered in a week or summat. Was camping with the boyfriend.” </p><p>He nods and continues his walk, Freddy alongside him. Harry and Freddy – Frederick – had a weird relationship. They first met in a small casern in 1912 and became friends quickly. As soon as he heard the other man speak polari to a fellow soldier, it clicked into place. They dated in secret for a while, until the second war was at the brink of starting and Europe was a powder keg. Cold nights in the trenches were spend in the man’s warm tattooed arms and warm days were spent with the two indulging in innocent activities. Harry knew he had to come clean with the man. </p><p>He turned him that very night – Glamour went once the process was complete. They fell out of love over time. Though Harry was not sure if he could call it that. Now they are just exes, but they are required to meet regularly. Harry was his maker after all, who had answers to the younger vampire’s questions and requests. </p><p>He also was there for the younger man for any requests and to guide him. </p><p>“Was nice, then?” </p><p>“Yeah, had great forest-camping sex,” the shorter man shrugs, “saw a squirrel.” </p><p>Harry snorts. “A squirrel and sex? That is why you’ve been stalking my house for the past few days?”</p><p>It was on Sunday when he first noticed the man’s smell in front of his apartment building. It lingered, so he knew the man did linger as well. Harry saw Frederick move in the shadows more than once. Even his sister noticed and made it a task of herself to confuse him. </p><p>“No, actually...” Freddy trails off and sits on a bench, grasping Harry’s coat and tugging him towards him. He sits down, and Artie sits between his spread knees. “Good boy. Now what, Frederick?”</p><p>“You see, I have a friend...” </p><p>“Aha, a friend. Does that friend know you are taken?”</p><p>Frederick huffs. “Yes, daddy, he knows.” </p><p>“Didn’t need to know you got a daddy kink.” Harry pulls a face. “So what about that friend of yours?”</p><p>“Well, he’s in town for a while and is running low. I was wondering if you could pull some strings and get him a bit or if you could offer some,” the man shrugs. </p><p>Harry sighs and pets Artie. “How long is he in town?” </p><p>“Dunno. I’d have to ask,” he looks around. “Actually, he is not that far away, he’s crashing at Marshall’s. You could come with me and have a quick chat?”</p><p>“Yeah, let me bring a dog into a bar, that’ll go well with the health and sanitary guidelines they have. Freddy, I thought you had a brain,” he reprimands. </p><p>“Moh fucked that out of me last week, thank you. But you can sneak through the back, or just leave him outside for a while.”</p><p>Harry wrinkles his nose. “Didn’t need to know that, weirdo.” </p><p>“Aw, I love you too. Chop chop now, we have to get going. Don’t wanna miss him.” Frederick doesn’t wait for his reply and simply walks ahead. Harry sighs and follows him. </p><p>The pair walks in silence through the night, and Artie tugs on the leash occasionally to sniff a bush or mark a tree. The further they walk through the park, the fewer people they encounter. They cross the street and walk along the houses. </p><p>“Come through the back,” Freddy mutters as they walk into an ally. </p><p>“You’d love that.”</p><p>“You know I would, and Moh would be down too,” the man shrugs. </p><p>Harry huffs and they quickly walk through the bar’s back entrance and up the narrow staircase to the flat above. The bass is dull but Harry still can feel the vibrations through the floor. “I’m back and I brought some fresh meat, baby.” </p><p>Frederick, Harry thinks, has never fully gotten over Harry. The man has always been hinting at getting back together, as a couple or just for a few hours. He merely sighs and sets Artie back to the ground. The dog shakes his body and starts sniffing out the new space. “You got to make it quick, my sister locked me out last time and I had to sleep on the roof.” </p><p>“Maggie is still a bitch, then?” </p><p>He clenches his jaw and harshly elbows the man against the chest. Freddy stumbles back against the wall and groans at the punch. He is not used to Harry using his actual strength on him. They were rough sometimes, but Harry cannot recall one time he has used his given strength on the other man – in pleasure or punishment. “Talk of my sister like that and I’ll make sure you will bleed dry while she watches, Frederick Norgen.”</p><p>The man rubs his chest and turns away slightly. “Yeah, sorry,” he mutters with his head bowed down in submission. Harry was over almost two and a half centuries older than the other man, so the latter knew his place in the hierarchy. </p><p>The older a vampire was the more power they possessed. Their senses were sharper; they were faster and stronger than humans or freshly turned vamps. With Harry being one of the oldest in the UK, he was maker to eight, and the one to go to in case of trouble or questions. He knows there were beings over twice as old as him on the continent, but since he never went there, the chances of running into them were slim to none. </p><p>“Way to piss off your maker, boy.” </p><p>Harry looked up to another man he met briefly a few times. “Hello, Juniper. How are you?” </p><p>The short man chuckles. “Good. Marshall is downstairs making sure nobody bites tonight. A lot of humans are there.” Harry knew that. He smelled their concentrated scents early; they still entered his nose now. He nods. </p><p>A part of their heightened senses was the ability to smell – naturally, it was. He was able to easily distinguish a human from another mythical being from three rooms over. </p><p>“Great, now that pleasantries are exchanged,” Frederick huffs with a delicate hand still resting on his chest, “can we see Lou? Harry might be able to hook him up.” </p><p>Their host nodded towards another door. “Got a bit of a fever, the poor lad. It was about time you found someone.” </p><p>Harry swallows and nods. Another vampire with a fever is never good. Some become aggressive, naturally defensive as they try to prove they are still strong and superior. Others got weak quickly and lose strength fast. </p><p>There were different stages of someone in deprivation. First, they would get snappy and easily irritated. Harry has never been past that stage, thankfully. It was maybe eight decades ago and he was just on the way to the French front to support their troops. Thankfully he found some rabbit and an undisturbed moment alone behind a birch tree. </p><p>The second was their senses would dull. Their strength would grow weaker, their eyesight became blurry and they were tired more easily. </p><p>The third was fever, usually accompanied by some kind of physical pain and strain. Last they would fall under, something Harry has experienced once with his sister. She had just turned and refused to drink despite growing weaker. He was terrified when he found her almost white body on her bed, hands cold and stiff and unable to wake up. He forced almost too much red liquid down her throat that night while he cried – afraid to lose his sister forever. </p><p>Maud got better after that, she got into a routine. Harry still made sure to remind her to drink today, even if she was in a different part of the world. </p><p>He could not forgive himself if he let her down and consequently lost her to her own foolishness and his pride. </p><p>The two men walk into the room. Only a small lamp on a side table drenched the room in a light yellow light. Harry smelled him. “Weak,” he mumbles, a pathetic huff sounding from the lump beneath a blanket. The person hiding from the world seemed to be curled up on the sofa in a fetal position. “Preference,” he asked. </p><p>“Any,” the voice whispers. </p><p>“I’ll be back in a few, then. I got a few bags at home. Watch Artie for me.” With that, he quickly walks out of the flat and jogged all the way through Hyde Park to his flat. Sure Harry did not know the guy, but he could not see another person suffer this greatly. He could not even raise his voice to a normal level, for fucks sake. Of course, he will worry about a stranger’s wellbeing. </p><p>He fumbles with the keys, dropping them twice. He needs to hurry. The way the man’s voice was rough, breathy and so <em> void of life </em> made him think of Maggie. “Fucking bitch,” he grumbles and the door opens. </p><p>“If I am the bitch, what are you? A freshly shat fuck?” </p><p>He enters his flat and walks to his pantry. “I meant the keys, Maggie, you know that.” He quickly thumbs through the bags of red in his mini-fridge. He settles on two B and an L and pulls them out. </p><p>“Wow, someone’s hungry, then? And why do you smell of some bastard who stalked us? Someone giving you trouble?” She rests her arm around his shoulder and squeezes gently. </p><p>Harry turns to his sister and frowns. “No. Frederick stalked my flat and he caught me at the park. He got a friend in deprivation. Fever and all.” </p><p>The woman shrugs. “Be back by sunrise, I heard your stupid laptop chime with email notifications eight times so far.”</p><p>“Why would it chime, if you didn’t get your stingy hands on it? I had it turned off.” With that, she stayed quiet. <em> Got ya </em>. He grabs a messenger bag and carefully puts the three baggies into it. “See you. Help yourself if you need,” he nodded towards the white fridge. </p><p>He walks back out and makes his way back towards the club slash the flat above it. He didn’t even need to see the other man to know he was weakened. How long has he gone without a drink? Once he makes it to the building Harry quickly turns into the alleyway and climbs the creaky stairs. Freddy opens the door and he enters. </p><p>“Had to pinch him twice of he would’ve fallen asleep. Breathing was too shallow for my liking,” the man mutters and Harry nods. </p><p>The two walk into the living room and Freddy pulls out a small pocket knife Harry recognized instantly. It was far from modern. He had purchased it just after the first war had ended. The steel was clean and shiny – Frederick has taken great care of the small thing over a century. </p><p>○○○</p><p>
  <em> “Harry,” the younger man giggles while pushing against his naked chest. He smiles and lays down next to him. “You got to stop sneaking in. My landlady is one mean hag. She cackles to anyone who cares to listen.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Harry gently noses along the man’s neck, pressing fleeting kisses to the soft skin. “She’s asleep. Missed you.”He feels Frederick swallow, his breath fanning over his tousled hair.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Mhh, I bet you did.” Frederick sat up slowly. “Want a bevvy, Sue?”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The blanket had slid down to pool in his lap. He shamelessly lets his eyes take in the other man’s toned chest. “No, had some vera before I came over. Had to dodge a dilly boy on my way.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He feels warm hands stroke his chest. “You looked fruity when you came in, can’t fault a dilly for ogling you. Proper dolly.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Good,” he sighs and settles further into the thin mattress. “’m tired of lookin’ naff all day,” he giggles.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Figured. What brought you over, anyway? Missing me and arva can’t be the only reasons.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Mhh, got a present for ya,” he murmurs while gliding a hand over Frederick’s thigh. At the mention of a present, the latter lifted his head slightly. “’s in my kaffies. Nothing big.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The other man slowly gets up and walks across the room to where Harry’s trousers ended up. He looked delicious. Harry wanted to indulge again. He watches as the other man paws the fabric and pulls out a small knife. He hums and walks back to his lover, settling on his thighs. “I love it. Always needed a good one.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Remembered you groaning about it after work. Saw it and had to get it for ya, Mary.” He gently strokes Freddy’s leg.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You are the best, Sue.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ○○○ </em>
</p><p>He grabs the blade from Freddy and the latter nods towards another door and Harry enters the kitchen, grabbing a mug from the shelf. He quickly pulls out a blood bag from his bag and stabs it, emptying the thick liquid in the ceramic. It had slightly warmed up over the time it was in his bag, and he is grateful. Sure, it’s fine to have it cold and fresh out of a refrigerator, but it helped faster the closer it was to its natural temperature. Nice and warm. </p><p>He walks back to the living room and sets the mug down on the table. “Drink,‘s B. I got one more B and one L. Hope cattle is fine, anyway. Don’t have human,” he explains softly. </p><p>The blanket lump moves and Harry makes out a breathy groan. “You’re a lifesaver, mate,” the male slurs and slowly sits up. </p><p>Harry recognizes the eyes first. They did not meet his, but he noticed in the dim light. He would remember these eyes until the end of his eternity and a bit. Those <em> oh so blue  </em>eyes that hold the summer skies and ocean’s depth. They are dull, yet there is such a familiar sparkle behind those tired eyes. The knot in his stomach only grows more when the man reaches for the mug and slowly gulps down its contents with closed lids. </p><p>Harry stares at the man he thought he had lost – pushed away – over three hundred years ago. He hasn’t changed a bit. Or, well, he has. But not to Harry. The man still seemed small, his hair was still brown, his nose was still <em> cute </em>. His skin looked clean, even with healthy colour missing, and his lips were oh so rosy, though dry. He swallows and stares at the man on the couch. </p><p>What was Louis doing here? Was it <em> his </em> Louis in the first place or some weird form of Glamour or mind trick he has never encountered before? How was he a mythical, like Harry? Since when? </p><p>“Eh, Sue, calm your tits. He’s drinking. No need to panic, calm that heart rate before Marshall comes up and forces some sleeping nightshade down your throat,” Freddy chuckles beside him and places a hand on his shoulder to squeeze the tense muscles. His heart was beating harshly in his chest, he felt hot all over. </p><p>Harry shrugs the hand off quickly and continues to focus on Louis on the ratty couch. His skin looked a little pale, likely from the deprivation, and his hair looked flat. Lifeless. </p><p>“I-,” he stutters and licks his lips. Would he even remember Harry? Or was he merely a passing face to the other man? Louis slowly takes the mug from his lips and licks the remnants of the liquid off them. The taller man quickly snatches the mug out of his hand and returns to the kitchen. </p><p>Harry is not one to run from problems. But now he cannot bring himself to face Louis, or Freddy. He was raised to face problems face on, and this mindset has manifested itself further during both times he served in the British army in wars – have no fear, fight forward and fight bravely. And now he feels like a coward. Hiding behind a bloody door from his past with shaky hands. </p><p>He carefully empties the second bag into the mug and breathes deeply. His ears ring, the high-pitched sound irritating him further. He rubs his ears angrily, willing the noise away, but to no avail. With a huff, he takes a swig off the mug and swallows. </p><p><em> Stop being a child, a coward. Man up, he might not even remember you. </em>  He scowls. Louis can’t have forgotten him. No, he wouldn’t. He was too precious.  <em> They shared an orange, for fucks sake </em>, and to Harry, it still felt like a fucking proposal with the way his heart raced at the memory. </p><p>He sniffles and shakes his head, returning to the two companions and thrusting the ceramic into Louis smaller hand before taking a step back so he wouldn’t see his face. “Thanks, lad.” </p><p>His voice has not changed one bit. It was a little raspier, fuller and more fleshed out – more mature – than Harry remembers. But it was light, travelling like a bird on a breeze or seafoam on the wave tops. It was heaven and hell in one. </p><p>He watches Louis as he drinks the second cup in one go as well, Adam's apple bobbing slowly and lashes casting delicate shadows atop his cheekbones. The blanked had slid down where it covered the man and Harry carefully takes him in. The black crewneck fits him perfectly. He looks positively ravishing. His legs are covered still, but Harry suspects his thighs are as muscular as he remembers them. Maybe even more. </p><p>Louis groans and clumsily places the mug on the coffee table before plopping down on his back again. “Fuck, I really needed that. Thanks,” he murmurs. </p><p>He just. He looks so familiar. So in place, like he never left Harry’s life in the first place. He could see them share a bedroom back in their first life, back in Arundel. He could imagine Louis cooking for him when he had a life up in Leyburn. He could imagine them sit side by side as they watch the waves in Heacham. He would have fit perfectly. </p><p> “Your hair is short,” he blurts before really thinking it through. </p><p>“Mhh?” Louis breathes deeply, eyes closed and arms crossed behind his head. He looked tired, but darling. </p><p>He swallows. He knew it. His first real crush forgot him. Erased him from his mind as easy as he left his life. They had talked for hours, Louis praised his voice whenever he answered the request of reciting a poem or a sonnet to the other man. And here he was, on a fucking ratty couch that looked like his owner pissed on it and never properly cleaned it years ago, not remembering his voice. </p><p>“Never mind,” he whispers. “I gotta go.” He quickly takes Artie’s leash and the dog trots up to him to be clipped on. </p><p>“No, was I supposed to have,” Harry hears shuffling and he turns to the voice and their eyes meet. Louis voice gets even quieter, softer at an instant, “long hair?” </p><p>Harry squirms and looks to the side, Artie nudging his legs impatiently. “Hey.”</p><p>Frederick looks from his ex to the man on the couch. “Did I miss something, or,” he trails off. </p><p>Harry clears his throat. “Uh, we.. we know each other. Well, did know each other,” he whispers. </p><p>“Know each other, dearest. I haven’t changed that much, I’d like to think.” </p><p>Dearest. <em> Dearest. </em> Harry’s knees almost buckle and he licks his lips. He remembers the nickname. The fond tone Louis used when he called him ‘dearest’, the soft coils and twists of his handwriting when he started the letters they wrote with the term of endearment. He swallows and takes a deep breath. </p><p>It has been centuries. It meant nothing. </p><p>“You’re...” “A vampire? I could say the same about you, pet.”</p><p>Harry can only nod. He never thought Louis was turned. He never dared to think their paths would cross again. Not after Harry had faked his demise and moved to a different part of the country. </p><p>“Oh, you dewey had trade. To be fair, he’s pretty alamo.” </p><p>Harry doesn’t bother to turn is head to look at Frederick. He simply punches the man’s upper arm with so much force he stumbles back and crashes into a wall, knocking over a lamp in the process. “Stop punching me, prick,” he growls and slowly pushes himself off the wall into a stand. He doesn’t come closer, though. Harry is grateful the man keeps away. </p><p>“We did <em> not </em>, Frederick. Stop talking shit and cackle about some other shit.”</p><p>Louis has keeps his eyes on Harry during the ordeal. “Better don’t anger him, chicken, before he pulls your pots out,” he utters slowly. Harry stills and stares at him. “’m omi-polone, dearest. If you wanna talk in some secret language, don’t use polari,” he adds. </p><p>His mouth is dry and he swallows. Artie lets out a pathetic whine and tugs on the leash towards the hallway leading outside. “I did not think I’d meet you again.”</p><p>Louis smiles weakly. “I did not think so, either. You stopped answering my letters whenever I wrote something that was not strictly business. I figured.” </p><p>Harry shakes his head quickly and tugs on the leash. “I’m- I have to go,” he croaks and exits the flat as quickly as he can with a dog in tow. His steps are heavy and he almost stumbles on the way up the stairs to his flat. Artie has to run to keep up with his frantic steps, barking softly when Harry’s tugs are too harsh at times. </p><p>He hammers against the front door, and a very sleep rumpled Maggie opens. “Motherfucker what.” Harry merely shoves her aside and slams the door shut once the dog is inside as well. Tears well up in his eyes and he leans against the door, sliding to the ground. </p><p>“Hey, what’s going on,” she asks. He swallows, but no words come out of his mouth. The woman sighs and carefully sits down next to him on the floor. “Did you lose the guy? I know it’s hard to watch, but that’s life.” He leans against her side and shakes his head. His hair is probably a mess, but he can’t bring himself to give a fuck about his appearance. </p><p>“No, I- he is fine,” his voice breaks and he clears his throat forcefully. <em> Stop being a fucking coward. </em> “I’s... The guy is Louis.” </p><p>His sister sighs and her warm fingers comb through his hair. “As if I know every vamp and mythical.”</p><p>He slightly pinches her thigh. “We literally talked about him less than a week ago!” Harry swallows and lifts his head off her shoulder. She’s frowning. “Oh my fucking god, when I nearly made you cry because I said I saw a love letter Alexander gave you!”</p><p>“Oh.” </p><p>He licks his cracked lips and carefully lays his head on her shoulder again. His neck is strained and it’s uncomfortable in every way. Even his ass hurts from sitting on the floor. </p><p>“So... are you sure it is that Louis? Maybe it was some glamour or you know how weird doppelgängers work,” she mumbles. </p><p>“No, it is definitely him. I- he said he’s gay.”</p><p>“What does that have to do with anything now?”</p><p>“I don’t know. Nothing, I suppose.”</p><p>Her shoulders rise and drop with a deep sigh. “How about you sleep over it, and we talk tomorrow when I come back from work, mh? I’ll make you some tea with nightshade to get you settled.”</p><p>He only nods and carefully stands up, finally toeing off his trainers and hanging his windbreaker in its designated place. He falls into bed willingly. His sister brings him some hot tea and adds two drops of liquid nightshade in the beverage before kissing his head and leaving the room silently. </p><p>He stares at the cup. The swirly design on the sides was a faded blue from decades of use, and the white is slightly stained as well. Nightshade was never something he liked. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth that lingers until he wakes up. </p><p>Nightshade was a pretty plant. The leaves were a deep healthy green. Its flowers were a pale purple. The cherry-like berries were not poisonous to most mythicals. He read a lot about its toxic characteristics to humans, how they were used for aeons to poison others for influence and power. They merely forced a vampire to sleep and their heart to slow, but never to stop. </p><p>He sighs and picks up the cup, drinking the tea in one go. It’s hot but does not burn his tongue. Perks of being a mythical, after all. </p><p>He snuggles back into the blanket and slowly relaxes as the plant takes full effect. Without much thought, he’s pulled into a dreamless sleep. </p><p>○○○</p><p>The world is dark when he wakes up the next morning. He doesn’t remember pulling the curtains closed. He groans and smacks his lips. His mouth feels icky. <em>That’s what I get for using nightshade, I suppose.</em> He carefully gets up and brushes his teeth to get rid of the stale taste and cotton-y feeling in his mouth.</p><p>He fixes himself some toast and jelly for breakfast and he sits at the island as he slowly eats. And <em>fuck,</em> Louis is alive, and somewhat well. Where had he been hiding for all this time? Harry knew all old mythicals in England, whether they were vamp, werewolf, witch or siren. How Louis’s turning escaped him is a mystery to him. But then again, it fits him. The man was elusive to a point where he could tell Harry a story and the latter would be no wiser of the man’s character.</p><p>He takes his phone and scrolls through the messages, ignoring the work emails that he received and left ignored in his inbox.</p><p><strong>From Niall</strong>: Hey, can I come over for lunch?</p><p>The message was sent almost four hours ago, and now it’s almost noon.</p><p><strong>To Niall:</strong> Yeah, sure. Why?</p><p>He doesn’t have to wait for an answer after he sends the address of his building.</p><p><strong>From Niall</strong>: Want to bitch about some apprentice and my paper.</p><p>He slowly shakes his head and finishes his toast. Before he knows where he is the doorbell chimes and Artie barks from his place in the living room. He quickly buzzes Niall up and lets him enter. The man has never been in his home before so he lets his eyes wander with curiosity.</p><p>“Damn, I figured you had some extra money lying around somewhere but this is luxe.”</p><p>Harry chuckles. “Perks of being an independent worker and being a bit stingy when I was younger.” It wasn’t a total lie. Harry did work on his own, as an independent interior and furniture designer. And he had been stingy when he was younger. That ‘younger’ was two hundred years ago is not necessary information.</p><p>“Remind me to never ask for you to design shit for me, I’d end up broke.” Niall takes off his jacket and hangs it next to Harry’s. They migrate to the living room and settle on the sofa. Artie looks at the two but doesn’t move from his bed.</p><p>“How was your week?”</p><p>Harry sighs. “Fine, I guess. Could’ve been better. Yours?”</p><p>And Niall starts. How his paper topic was bullshit and he wanted to change it. How the apprentice he had to take under his wing at work was a ‘complete moron who can’t even walk straight’, and ‘you don’t get it he sneezed on a fucking 300-year-old document, he left snot on this thing’. They order Pizza at some point and eat that while Niall complains.</p><p>“Hope you remember my sister’s sleeping over for a while,” he utters at some point and Niall nods.</p><p>“Yeah, remember that.” The man lets his eyes wander, and they settle on an old encyclopaedia collection on the top shelf. “Uhh, these look cool,” he gets up and takes one of the volumes down, opening the hard binding.</p><p>“Harry?”</p><p>“Mhh?” he hums around his piece of pepperoni pizza.</p><p>“How the fuck do you have a two hundred and fifty year old book just sitting in your bookshelf?”</p><p>And, yeah, in hindsight he probably should have erased the date of purchase written on the first page or blacked out the publishing year and edition number. </p><p>He swallows and coughs lightly. “Family pass down I guess. Got it from my dad.” </p><p>“From your dad? This is essentially public property! This shit is in the best condition I’ve seen a collection this big in,” he rants and carefully turns the pages. </p><p>He wipes his hands. “Well, my parents told me it was an heirloom and to treat it with care,” he shrugs. </p><p>Niall lets out a soft whistle and closes the book before he pulls a second volume off the shelf. “These are all from the first 500 released prints as well, fuck. And proper prints and hardcovers like these were expensive as fuck.” The man looks at Harry. “Would you lend me these or donate them to the Historian Foundation?” </p><p>“No,” he immediately says. Niall raises his brow and slowly closes the book. “I mean, they mean a lot to me. They were, uh, part of my parent’s will. It’s like one of the only things I have left,” he mutters, feigning sadness. </p><p>He <em> was </em> sad he was practically the last of his family that was alive to continue their lineage. Sure, his sister was with him, but she was very adamant when she decided to never have children again after her third lifetime. She did not like physical affection that came along with it, she reasoned, and Harry left it at that. It was none of his business after all. </p><p>So he was the last who could and would have a family he always wanted. </p><p>Over the years he had come to terms with it. Some times more than others he wishes his mother were there to give him advice and guidance. </p><p>“I mean, I get that. Maybe lend it for an exhibition or to digitalize?” Harry merely shrugs and looks at Niall. He can physically smell the irritation that is brewing below the other man’s skin. </p><p>“Stop being so pissed, I will think about it, alright?” </p><p>Niall nods and carefully slides the books back into their place on the shelf and lets his eyes roam over the other knickknacks and little trinkets on the shelf to fill it up. </p><p>And again, yes, in hindsight Harry also should have hidden some other things from plain sight. Especially considering that he knew Niall was a bloody historian and nerd. </p><p>“An original sextant from fucking 1760,” he shrieks and Harry flinches. The sextant was not anything interesting. He used it a few times when he was part of the British marine, but otherwise, it was just a nice thing to leave on the shelf. </p><p>“How do you even know if it’s an original,” he questions. It’s not obvious. </p><p>“Oh, I don’t know, lucky guess,” he throws his hands up in the air. “No, wait I remember – It’s because the fucking manufacturing date is debossed in the frame by the eyepiece. Fakes never have them.” He eyes the device carefully. “Even the fucking glass and mirror are intact from the looks of it,” he whispers in disbelieve. </p><p>“Uh,” he swallows. “A lucky find at some car boot sale in Brighton.”</p><p>“Yeah, and who is to believe that shit?”</p><p>Harry looks at the man and licks his lips. He’s known Niall for years now, and the man has always been true and someone to trust. </p><p>“Want me to show you?” </p><p>“Yeah, motherfucker.” </p><p>He breathes deeply, chest rising and falling slowly. “We’re taking a trip to the South tomorrow, then. I’m driving.” </p><p>“Got some history dealer or what,” the man scoffs with crossed arms. </p><p>“Something like that,” Harry sighs and looks at his friend. He might have to bring diluted water hemlock in case their trip won’t go well.</p><p>○○○</p><p>Harry picks the other man up bright and early at 7 am. He quickly sends the ‘I’m here’ message to him and waits in the car. The passenger door opens and Niall gets in. “If this is not good, I will expect you to redo my entire flat for free,” the man grumbles and buckles up. The man was clad in joggers and some pullover, probably opting for comfort-wear to sleep on their journey. It would only take around an hour and a half to two hours, but any amount of sleep seems better than no sleep. </p><p>“Good morning to you, too,” he muses with a chuckle. “And yes, it will be good. Just you wait.” </p><p>“And you are paying for lunch,” the Irishman adds. </p><p>“Figured,” he replies and starts driving. It’s not his favourite thing to do in the world. When automobiles first became a thing, he was elated. A something that could transport you faster than any carriage o horse that was not bound to tracks? A delight! Now it was a pain in the ass to find a parking spot. </p><p>The scenery changes quickly outside their windows. The grey houses and dozen cars slowly transform to green meadows beside the street and trees scattered sparsely. </p><p>The closer they come to their destination, the more nervous he gets. His hands are clammy on the steering wheel and more than once has he to lift his foot from the gas pedal to stop going over the speed limit. Otherwise, he would like to think he hides his anxiety well. </p><p>“Do me a favour and search for Clara Reddy in the contacts and press call, please?”</p><p>“Do it yourself.” Niall is leaning against the side of the door with his eyes closed, and his jacket draped across his twisted body. He had been going in and out of consciousness for the last half hour while the sun barely started her workday to brighten the world. </p><p>“Sure, I’ll just make sure we crash first so it’s safe. Does that tree there look suitable to you, or should I wait until a bridge so we crash in cement pier? ” </p><p>Niall groans and sits up, does as told, and once the dial tone rings from the speaker it connects to the Bluetooth system Harry has in his car he resumes his curled up position. </p><p>“Historical landmark Arundel Castle. Clara Reddy speaking, how may I help you?”</p><p>“Hello, Mrs Reddy,” he says. “Harry Styles here.” </p><p>“Oh, hello Mr Styles. How can I help?” Harry hears some shifting from Niall’s side of the car – he must have sat up again. He quickly glances towards him and their eyes meet, so he focuses back on the road. </p><p>“Right, I was just on a short trip down and was wondering if you could provide me the keys?” </p><p>“Of course,” the woman exclaims happily. “I’ll have someone meet you at the entrance to let you in as we do not open the front gates until 10 am. They will give you the keys as well. Just show your ID, that should be just fine.” </p><p>“You, Mrs Reddy, are an angel. Thank you so much, I’ll make sure nobody else enters the areas that aren’t the museum.” </p><p>“As always.” </p><p>“As always,” he agrees easily and hangs up after bidding the woman goodbye. </p><p>Niall’s eyes bore in his temple. “What was that?” </p><p>“You’ll see. I told you,” he mumbles, nervousness returning tenfold. He did not want to use hemlock on his best friend, but that was the only viable option if today would not go well.</p><p>Hemlock, or water hemlock to be exact, was a poisonous plant. Witches found a way to dilute the poison a few decades ago. The plant’s toxin – if not diluted properly – was a violent convulsant. If one survives the heavy seizures, they would be left with amnesia and no recollection of the previous events. </p><p>But witches were able to work with the plant and now the diluted version of the plant’s toxin-induced amnesia without the nasty side effects of seizures and death. </p><p>He would have to use it on Niall if the man were to freak out or threaten him. It was his duty to protect the other mythicals and ensure their safety, especially vampires. In case his friend, who usually was level-headed and calm, was to threaten him with harm, he would have to knock him off his feet and he was not willing to if he could prevent that scenario. End of story. </p><p>They drive another hour before they enter the driveway to Arundel Castle. The locked intricately crafted iron gate prevents them from entering the courtyard. A man, who Harry assumes is new in the staff, walks up to the car. Harry quickly shows his ID and the man opens the gates slowly. Harry drives around and parks the car a little walk away from the main entrance area. </p><p>“We are here.” </p><p>They exit the car and Harry leads the way to the entrance of the main building. He has not been here for a few months, and surely never with intentions, he had as of right now. The gravel crunches softly under their feet as birds fly overhead to find a delectable morning snack in the gardens and under the orchard trees. Once they arrive, they climb the few stairs to the entrance and the man they met briefly in the driveway hands him the keys and hurries away. </p><p>“They just... give you the keys to an entire fucking museum,” Niall stutters flabbergasted, face displaying nothing but confusion. </p><p>“Well, I-,” he sighs. “You’ll see. Come along now.” He unlocks the heavy doors and pushes them open. “Careful the first and last steps creak a little, they will have them renewed in restorations planned for next year I believe.”</p><p>Niall nods and looks around. </p><p>The rondell has not changed much throughout the years. The floors are polished shiny and the paintings are meticulously kept free from dust. The last portrait his parents had commissioned hangs up high between the grand staircases. He smiles, melancholy settling in his heart. Oh, he misses them dearly. </p><p>“Come,” he utters and walks up the stairs towards the west wing. The stairs did creak as they rest their feet on them and Niall’s frown only deepens. </p><p>“How often are you here again?” </p><p>He thinks for a second. “Maybe twice a year. I try to come here for my birthday.” </p><p>“You worked here?” Niall stops at a window in the hallway and looks out to the right atrium. The flowers there are in full bloom, adding to the charm and homey feeling. The apple tree he planted in the middle of the grass patch was green and looked strong. The orchard must look the same, he assumes. Maybe he could nick an apple or two for his flat. Maggie would love the little fairing.</p><p>“Nope, I have never had to work while I was here.” He keeps walking, his steps echoing in the abandoned halls he once walked when they were full of life. He stops at a door and fumbles around with the keys and unlocks the doors. “This is, well, usually a room not accessible to the public.”</p><p>“Oh, and you’re not the public or what.” </p><p>Harry sighs with tense shoulders. <em> Now or never. Do not be a coward. You can always rectify the situation if necessary </em>. He pushes the oak door open and lets Niall enter first. </p><p>“I’m not the public because this is my castle. This is my home.” </p><p>The room was a little stuffy, the windows haven’t been opened in a while. There was no furniture aside from two old armchairs and a low showcase full of little knickknacks like brushes and broaches. The floor was sparse, but the walls were fuller than ever. Dozens of portraits and small photographs were hung up on all sides of the room. Some had gilded frames with intricate ornaments, others had simple wood frames. Some were pale acrylics, but most were oil paintings. They were different sizes as well. The smallest canvas was half a meter to a meter, the tallest taking up the entire height of the room. This particular one was hung between the two tall windows opposite the door. </p><p>But they all had one thing in common. The motive. </p><p>Harry watches as Niall slowly turns his head and stare at the pictures individually before looking at the next. </p><p>Each frame, each brushstroke within these walls came together to show the same thing – Harry. The biggest picture was when he was Earl of Arundel. He stood in front of a purple curtain wearing a red velvet vest and breeches. In front of him, there was Elliot. The boy had only been 10 back then when Harry told him he would become Earl after the man passed. The portrait was the first of himself as Earl after his father had passed unexpectantly and ways too early. </p><p>The date was embossed in the gold frame – 01. February 1663. Niall slowly lets his eyes flicker over every detail of the canvas, lingering on the face of the man painted. He quickly glances toward his friend and back to the canvas. </p><p>He carefully tiptoes to the next painting. Harry wore a black suit in the painting. It was painted outside and he had a horse behind him. 01. February 1689. Harry’s face was the exact same as it was in the first painting. That was when he was a Lord in the western part of the country. He had successfully won a fox hunt with a horse of fantastic pedigree. It was custom to include the beast in the portrait. </p><p>01. February 1736 – Harry was pictured wearing another suit. Blue this time. He had a top hat and a cane in the picture, along with a small dog sitting by his feet.</p><p>01. February 1798 – He wore cheap linen. It was the first self-portrait he painted in front of a mirror. He remembers how much he had struggled to keep his expression and posture the same for this attempt. He sat for nearly 6 days in a dimly lit room before he deemed the canvas acceptable and the painting finished. It had a wooden frame, but there were intricate carvings of flowers in the material. </p><p>01. February 1855 - He was clad in cheap linen again. There was the chain of a pocket watch dangling in front of his chest. He was a sailor for the British forces and as a trader in this life with a deep-rooted joy for painting. Nobody questioned why he did portraits himself. </p><p>01. February 1891 - He wore a brown suit, and behind him was a window. That was a life he lived the longest, he loved it, despite having to endure and fight two wars that shattered the world and left humanity broken and bruised on its knees. He met Frederick before the first war began, and he was happy. But when he turned almost 40 it was time to change and get into a new glamour again to not arouse suspicion. </p><p>01.February 1934 – He was barely old enough to be in the military a second time. He would have been barely eighteen when they sent him off with the new birth certificate he had fashioned. He fought and he fought bravely. </p><p>01. February 1994 - He wore jeans and a button-down. It was still a portrait done with oils. His current life was quite a favourite. There were small photos in cheap IKEA frames around the canvases, showing his life, his friends and his chosen family. </p><p>Harry keeps his focus on Niall. The man was pale, Harry could hear his heart hammering in the human’s chest. “What..” </p><p>“You wanted to know how I got old stuff? Because I was alive back when these things were brand new,” he explains slowly. Niall falls backwards onto one of the armchairs and forces a cloud of dust to escape the old upholstering. He shoots up. </p><p>“Fuck I can’t sit on that. That shit is antique,” he cries out. </p><p>“Just sit down Niall, there is a whole storage part in the old stables full of furniture,” Harry reassures. He hesitant before walking towards the man. </p><p>“Nah, that shit is fake. How the fuck did you get a museum to agree to some fucking prank.” His voice is shaky and he wipes his hands on the jeans repeatedly. Niall thankfully has taken a seat and his knee bounces up and down rapidly. It irritated Harry.</p><p>“This is not some elaborate stunt or joke. I am over three hundred years old. I grew up here,” he states. There was no way to hide the truth now, so why sugar-coat and coax Niall. The latter shakes his head quickly. Harry sighs and glares at him. “Stay here then, I’ll be back in ten minutes.” </p><p>He stomps out of the room and walks through the familiar yet so foreign halls to his former bedroom. He quickly unlocks the door and walks inside, ripping the closet doors open. There were still some well-kept garments in plastic bags in there. He had asked to keep them in a perfect state and had them remade in the 1970s. </p><p>Harry has kept some garment from each of the lives he lived – whether it is his Navy coat, his breeches or an expertly tailored suit. The original clothes started to disintegrate over time and fall apart at the seams, so he had consulted the tailor and seamstress of his confidence to replicate the pieces stitch by stitch. They had done a marvellous job. </p><p>He takes a hanger and carefully changes clothes. His black joggers and socks are exchanged for white stockings and velvet red breeches, and his black hoodie is changed into a white blouse with ruffles and a red vest. He slips back into his Nike trainers – he won’t go into these uncomfortable shoes from the past. He leaves the pile of clothes on an armchair and returns to the gallery room. </p><p>Niall is sitting exactly where he had left him. His knee still bounces furiously and his skin is pale. The man looks up at the door opening and his eyes widen when he sees his attire. Harry stomps over to the windows where the biggest portrait was hung between. He had stood for the portrait in front of these very windows, even the purple curtains were still there. He pulls one closed a little to expand the heavy fabric and stands in front of it, elongating his neck and looking dead ahead to a grandfather clock. </p><p>Niall stares at his friend. Then at the canvas a mere meter next to him. Then back to him. It was precisely the same, save for the hair. Harry had longer hair in the portrait, now he had his curls cut down to a few inches. </p><p>“What. The. Fuck.”</p><p>Harry lowers his shoulders slowly and looks at his friend. “Believe me now?” </p><p>“How the fuck.. I mean how.. what is this shit,” he stammers. </p><p>Harry takes a few tentative steps forward. He doesn’t want to overwhelm Niall, but there is no other way at this point. “Ever heard of Count Dracula,” he tries to joke and a pathetic whine leaves Niall’s mouth. “Yeah, ‘s kinda like that?” </p><p>The anxiety is practically bleeding out of Niall’s every pore. “No. That’s wrong.” </p><p>The taller merely groans and crouches down in front of his friend. “Watch.” He carefully grasps Niall’s chin and turns his head towards him before he opens his mouth maybe two fingers wide and extends his upper fangs. </p><p>Niall’s eyes widen as he watches teeth that are supposed to stay in place grow longer and a tad sharper. Before Harry picks up the added distress in Niall’s scent, the man slumps forward and topples on the clean wood floor with a heavy thud. </p><p>Harry watches his body hit the floor and he closes his mouth. <em> Well, at least the leg bouncing stopped. </em> </p><p>He lifts the man with ease and places him back in the chair, lifting his legs a little. It takes a few minutes but he slowly fights his way back into full consciousness, so Harry lowers the legs back to the floor. </p><p>“You’re not gonna kill me, are you?” His voice breaks and he watches Niall cower in his seat. </p><p>Harry can’t stop his eyes rolling and the sigh that leaves his lips. “If I wanted, I could have killed and drunk from you ages ago, moron. And I don’t run on human blood anyway,” he shrugs. “Also yes we can be seen in mirrors and yes we are strong and fast, but we can control ourselves around any type of blood contrary to popular belief from movies.” </p><p>Niall swallows and looks at the man with wide eyes, panic still present. “WE?” he shrieks. </p><p>Harry nods and runs a hand through his hand. “You think I’m the only one in the world?” </p><p>“How-“ “many? Maybe a million, maybe more? I don’t know, have never really left the UK other for wars.´,” he shrugs. “I only know the ones from here.” </p><p>He can see the gears turning behind Niall’s forehead, and his heart rate returns to one that doesn’t resemble a heart attack. “Niall,” the man looks up to him. “I need you to promise me something. No, I need you to <em> swear on your life </em> you will keep this a secret and your mouth shut about what I am and our existence.” </p><p>Niall swallows thickly, knee bouncing again. “If- I mean if I don’t? If I talk?” </p><p>“Well,” Harry starts, fumbling out a small vial from his vest pocket. The clear liquid swishes inside the glass. He lifts it in his friend’s line of view who eyes it with suspicion. “This is primed and filtered water hemlock. If you cannot swear to keep this under wraps I will force these eight millilitres down your throat. You will inevitably pass out, and stay comatose for hours. Once you wake up, you will have no recollection of the last four days.” </p><p>He licks his lips, grasping Niall’s chin again, squeezing lightly. “I would hate to force this down your throat, but it is necessary for me and my kin’s safety.” He lets go. “I trust you, but I do not trust the species which burned women as witches because they happened to know maths or were old and unmarried.” </p><p>Niall stays quiet, looking at Harry with wide eyes and slightly opened mouth. His knee has stopped bouncing, but the levels of anxiety are sky-high still. “I need an answer. <em> Now. </em>” </p><p>The Irishman manages a jerky nod. “Yeah, yeah, fuck ok I won’t tell anyone.” Harry’s green eyes stare into his, and as much as fear clouds his views, he can see honesty. Harry gets up and helps Niall to his feet. </p><p>“Ok, now come, I want to change.” They exit the room just as a guided tour passed the room. </p><p>“We are in the West Wing of the estate,” the guide states. “The Earls of Arundel usually resided within this part of the building. The Earl Harold of Arundel bestowed his title to his eldest sister’s son. He never found the one, so he passed unmarried within these very halls. His only son, Henry, refused the title.” </p><p>Harry scoffs quietly as he locks the door to the gallery room. “I ‘passed’ in a summer estate an hour away. And I ‘did not find the one’ because I’m gay as fuck. Good try though,” He mocks the guide. How did they even think he passed here? Rumours and imaginary facts, no doubt. </p><p>“What? Oh, I did not know they invited period actors.” </p><p>He raises his head quickly and stares at the tour group, the lot of them stare at Harry and Niall. Right, he was still wearing his original attire. “Uh, they are thinking about it. Costume fitting day,” he explains and points down. </p><p>The guide nods and claps their hands, delving right back into gibberish about the very walls Harry grew up in. </p><p>“You have a son?” </p><p>Harry chuckles as they slowly return to Harry’s old bedroom. He locks the door behind them. “No, but I wanted the castle and estate to stay in my name. I pretended to have a child out of wedlock,” he muses and unbuttons his vest, slowly changing back into his modern clothes. “<em> Henry </em> was actually me. I just kinda passed down the generations and deeds and titles to imaginary sons. Technically I’m also still the Earl of Arundel and the Duke of Norfolk,” he shrugs, running a hand through his curls. </p><p>Niall watches him with curious eyes as he changes. “You have a lot of tattoos, then?”</p><p>“Yeah, some have meaning, some don’t,” he shrugs. </p><p>“Tell me about it,” he challenges. </p><p>Harry hangs the clothing bag back into the closet and closes the door, gingerly sitting down in the armchair which previously held his clothes. “The swallows on my chest and the rope down my spine were from when I was a sailor, part of the royal navy. I have a small triangle hidden in the eagle on my biceps.” </p><p>“For, you know..” “Yeah, for being gay as fuck,” he giggles and crosses his legs. “A sun on my shoulder blade for my days as Earl here.” </p><p>“A sun? How does that connect to here? Because you're in the south or what?” </p><p>Harry smiles and nods, eyes casting downwards. “Icarus and his love for the sun.” </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I tried to make vampire lore somewhat cohesive and not too cliche because tbh I hate the "they sparkle in the sun and can't be near garlic" stereotypes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They wander the estate grounds together and Harry answers the occasional question Niall throws at him. The vines that have been trying to climb the sides of the building since he can remember are still trimmed pernickety – maybe he should request to let them grow a few years just to see how it would look. He stops for a second and looks up, shielding his face from the risen sun. </p><p>“And you actually lived here,” Niall questions for the fourth time. Harry nods and snaps his eyes to his friend who looks around dumbfounded. He starts walking again, tearing his eyes from his former bedroom window and guides them down a path towards the stables. </p><p>“Yes, born in my parent’s bedroom over there,” he stops again and points to a window on the first floor, “grew up and grew old here.” He looks at the Irishman again and suppresses a chuckle. </p><p>It’s evident he still cannot fully process the whole revelation. The man he knew for a few years has been alive before he was even conceived, fought in literal wars, and just walked about a new life every few decades. They enter the stables and Harry takes a subtle breath. The distinct smell of dry hay and horses is still ingrained in his mind. A smile appears on his face as he walks into the building, Niall in tow. “I had a horse here, nice mare. Her name was Ember.” </p><p>“I still think you’re messing with me.” </p><p>“Ok, then go to the last box on the right there, and open the door. On the top pillar, I carved a sun and her name in it when I was twenty. Cursive and all. Go on,” he taunts and points down the hallway. These halls have long not seen a horse, nor an ostler. The hay that used to cover each stone on the floor and hung down in glimmering golden strands from the hayloft has been removed, swept up – just like most of his past lives. Little to no evidence of him was in the history books and records after his earldom.  </p><p>Niall follows his hand and begins to move, doing as he is told. “Oh, fuck me sideways,” he hears his echoing voice and strolls down the hall. </p><p>“Told you.”</p><p>They walk the grounds for another hour, Harry telling some short stories and tales from once upon a lifetime and snatching a few apples from a tiny tree in the orchard. The rows of trees stand pristine and too symmetrical.</p><p>“My sister Isabel was always the one who had to watch me when I was outside without a maid or my parents, as she was older. She hated it, even if she never would admit it.” He stops for a moment, looking at the twisted trunk and the ant that climb the bark. “Well, she might actually complain the whole time how much she hated it. But back then she never would have spoken up.” He stretches and plucks another apple off a branch, turning the green fruit in his hand. “We always played hide and seek here, and we would search one time each and then just eat apples until our stomachs would hurt.”</p><p>“You preferred green apples over red ones? Y’all were disgusting,” Niall said while taking a bite. </p><p>“We also had trees for red apples, but the green ones had a tartness to them we loved. I still do. Also, they last longer in the fridge. We had one cherry tree, as well. But I had to have it chopped back in the day because it was rotten inside and the cherries were rotten before a maid would have gotten a ladder ready for picking them” he chuckles. </p><p>“You had two sisters, right?”</p><p>Harry nods and stuffs the apple in his hoodie pocket at his stomach. It’s bulging from a dozen small apples and looks bulky, but he could not care. Maud will love them! “Yeah, Isabel Ann and Maud Eugenie. Loved them both dearly, miss them even more.” </p><p>“Oh,” the man sighs. “So they aren’t... you know... twilight-ing it up?”</p><p>“Oh god, that godforsaken movie series.”</p><p>“So, it was not accurate?”</p><p>Harry groans and they walk through the garden. The wind ruffles his hair so he quickly ties it into a tiny bun on top of his head. “It’s like... if I were an alien and have read one book on humans and made a movie that describes how you die after twisting your ankle because your human bodies are so fragile. I don’t fucking sparkle in the sun,” he throws his hands up. “And literally none of us is indestructible or has ‘alabaster skin,” he mocks, wiggling his head. </p><p>“You are pretty pale though.”</p><p>“Because I am not in the mood to sunbathe in a public park in London. We tan quite nicely, actually,” he remarks. </p><p>“So you wouldn’t let Edward Cullen fuck you and bite you while he’s at it?”</p><p>He snorts and picks a forget-me-not from the side of the pathway. After the estate and the grounds were opened for the public after the Second World War, the historic society restored and renovated the rooms, and redid the pathways. The gardens were replenished and brought back to their former colourful glory with roses, lilies, dahlias, and more baby’s breath than should be appropriate. </p><p>“Edward Cullen isn’t even real. And biting isn’t particularly a turn on between us during sexual intercourse. It happens rather rarely from what I heard from others and only happens when someone is close. Also, I don’t bottom for pathetic fakes like him,” he adds after a moment.</p><p>“Ok, but if he were real, would you?” </p><p>“No, he’s too young. I don’t mess with someone younger than one hundred and fifty years old. They get my point of views on stuff that happened back then and aren’t stuck in that I’m a vampire, I’m the strongest thing alive’ mindset many younger ones have.” </p><p>It’s around 1 pm when his stomach growls. “We should have some lunch, you insisted I pay anyways,” he chuckles as they return to the main house. He walks a few more steps before he realizes Niall has stopped walking alongside him to stand stock still in the middle of the gravel path a few paces behind him. </p><p>“Lunch, you said?” he squeaked. </p><p>“Yes? They have a cafe and a small restaurant here.” Niall’s shoulders sag down in relief and- “Oh! Niall, I told you I don’t run on, uh, human,” he gestures to his neck. </p><p>“Right, right, sorry,” the man murmurs and quickly catches up to his friend. </p><p>“It’s fine,” he assures the man. </p><p>The two enjoy a nice lunch, two simple burgers and some coffee, but it’s nice overall. The converted servant’s quarters make a fine restaurant to replenish one’s energy after all. He remembers it as the male servant’s room. The conservations brought new shine to the wood panelling on the tall walls, and the dark oak flooring was polished clean and rid of possible splinters. The windows were changed and now the room was constantly bathed in a soft light through the thin white curtains hung before them. Many smaller tables were scattered across the room and a few tables were placed along the far wall that could hold six people each. Two other tables were occupied by couples, and one was surrounded by two women and four children munching on fries. </p><p>Harry smiles at the waiter as he pays and they exit the estate. The car’s tires cause the pebbles to crunch beneath the weight of the vehicle. Their drive back is equally quiet as their drive down south, Niall’s lost in his head and Harry’s trying to keep his mouth shut to not overwhelm the man in the passenger seat further.</p><p>“You really don’t drink human blood?” </p><p>He glances towards his friend and shakes his head, focusing back on the road. “No. We don’t require human blood. That shit is super hard to come by,” he snorts. “We mostly opt for cattle. Personally, I have found a butcher I trust who bags it up for me to keep. No parts going to waste, you know.” </p><p>“And, but, like, there are black sheep?” </p><p>“Yeah,” he nods seriously and licks his lips. “I mean there always are, aren’t there? That’s how Dracula actually came to be. Not the entire plot is true, of course, but some time back then someone had a bad meeting with a vampire, likely got drained or watched someone get drained, so they gave all of us a bad reputation. One fucks us all over, you know? But usually drinking in public is impossible anyway, and we try to refrain even if it’s someone who knows. Both parties have to agree to the initial bite, otherwise, it hurts like a bitch and the human ends up screaming bloody murder, quite literally as well,” he informs. </p><p>“Wait, but,” he stops for a moment, contemplating. “So you did bite humans?” </p><p>Harry shrugs and exits the highway. “Well, yeah. A few times when I first turned because my maker never told me I could rely on animals as well, and my ex. Turned him, too, so he’s a pain in the ass I have to take care of. Otherwise no, I only drank from animals.” </p><p>“Right,” he nods slowly. “How... how does it feel?” </p><p>“I wouldn’t know, I turned when I was unconscious and with blood from my maker instead of a bite,” he giggles. He hears a soft ‘Oh’ and they leave it at that. Harry drives up to Niall’s flat and parks in front of it. “Remember what you swore, ok?” </p><p>Niall nods and licks his lips. In his years of knowing the Irishman, he has never seen him so quiet, so speechless. The situation must be overwhelming for him, so Harry understands the hesitation and tentativeness. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah. Can I.. ask something else?” Harry nods. “Well, when we were at the museum..” </p><p>“Yeah, I wrote that letter,” Harry interrupts and answers the unspoken question. “By the way, is there any chance you can get me that letter, or access to it?” </p><p>Niall’s face shows confusion, a frown etched across his features. “Why would you... ‘s safe behind the glass, don’t worry.” </p><p>“Yeah, no. I know it’s safe. But,” he huffs and licks his lips. “The guy I wrote it for is in town and I don’t want him to see it. There is a reason I never sent that letter, you know?” he explains softly. </p><p>“Oh. I- I’ll see what I can do, but no promises.” </p><p>Harry nods and smiles weakly. Niall exits the car and enters his building. God, Harry sounded desperate. And truly, that’s because he is. There was a reason he never sent the letter and now Louis, out of all people, was in London for an indefinite period of time. The longer that piece of paper was on display to the public, the higher the chances are that Louis will see it. Read it. <em> Actually read it </em>. </p><p>He drives back to his apartment and parks. He takes the stairs to the eighth floor – the elevator feels too claustrophobic and tiny now. He pushes the door shut behind him and leans against it. Here is to hoping Niall keeps his pie-hole shut. </p><p>“Good you’re here,” he looks up to his sister. Her bag and suitcase stand next to her. He frowns and cocks his head to the side.</p><p>“You’re leaving?” </p><p>“Yes, brother dearest. Work is over here, next stop is Bratislava,” she sighs and stretches her arms to the side. “Also your little stalker is back. Came and grew the balls to knock this time. Said he wanted to talk.” </p><p>Harry nods dumbfounded and looks her up and down. She looked amazing in her pale green suit and black pumps. Once it was socially acceptable for women to wear pants, she was one of the first to utilize her newfound freedom and delve into fashion. Her usual business attire was a pantsuit, and she looked powerful every single time. Harry almost wishes he would look as influential as she did. </p><p>“Yeah, I guess he will come around sometime, then. Do you already know when you’re coming back?” </p><p>She shakes her head, curls swaying softly with the sudden movement. “Nope, but I’ll call you once I know.” She engulfs him in a warm hug and he gratefully sinks into her embrace. Harry breathes deeply and smiles, whispering a quiet ‘I love you’ before they part. “I brought you something,” he whispers and takes two handfuls of apples out of his hoodie. Maud’s eyes open wide and a grin takes over her face, eyes lighting up with childish delight. </p><p>“Please tell me they are from where I think they are from.”</p><p>“From the first, the fourth and the sixth tree from the orchard,” he confirms and drops them in her waiting hands. </p><p>“God, I missed these. I haven’t had one since the early 2000s. You’re the best brother.”</p><p>“I’m the only brother you have, you walnut brain.” He gently lifts a hand to her face and gently holds it for a moment, basking in her familiar warmth. “See you soon, Maud” She smiles and kisses his cheek, stuffing the fruits in her handbag and picking up her suitcase, and she walks out of the apartment. He carefully clicks the door close behind her and sighs. </p><p><em> Alone again </em>. Artie barks from the living room. Well, not fully alone at least.</p><p>○○○</p><p>Two days later he finishes up an email to a client and a furniture fabricator he closely works with when his doorbell chimes. Artie barks and shoots up from his perch in Harry’s lap to bark at the door. Harry watches him for a moment and he stands, petting the animal.</p><p>He unlocks the door and lets the man on the other side inside, holding Artie back on his collar.</p><p>“I don’t get why the mutt hates me,” Freddy murmurs as he toes off his boots.</p><p>“You shouldn’t have kicked him back in the day then,” he muses and scratches the animal between the ears to calm him. “Go in my bedroom, Artie,” he whispers and the dog hesitantly trots off down the hall.</p><p>“At least the hatred is mutual,” the man huffs.</p><p>“So,” Harry starts and walks back into the living room, flopping down on the couch. “My sister said you’ve stalked my flat again and, and I quote, grew the balls to knock this time?”</p><p>Freddy sits down beside him and places his legs in his lap nudging his stomach. “Yeah, I wanted to talk.”</p><p>“Talk then,” he picks up his phone again, opening Candy Crush. He’s had the app for years and pathetically enough has been stuck on the same level for eight months. So, instead of trying, he just ignored the app until playing it was in his favour and he needed to ignore something or look busy.</p><p>“So... you know Louis.” It’s not a question, so Harry just nods for confirmation. His heart beats a little faster and he swallows quickly. “Is he your maker?”</p><p>“Nope,” he pops the ‘p’, “didn’t even know he was turned at some point,” he murmurs. He focuses back on connecting four blue beans. “We were,” he pauses. What were they? “Acquaintances with business relations, I’d say.”</p><p>“Well, that’s interesting.”</p><p>“Mhh?” He swipes his thumb and huffs quietly when the awaited bomb doesn’t appear at the top of the level. Freddy’s pointer enters his vision and swipes across the screen twice, successfully creating a little disco ball as he calls it.</p><p>“Yeah, because he told me you were pretty close friends until you decided to be an asshole and ignore his friendly letters.”</p><p>He licks his lips and shakes his head, greasy curls falling in his face. He really needs to wash his hair tonight, but the hair mask he brought takes so much time it’s draining his energy just thinking about it. Not that he would ever be in a time crunch, but he liked things done quickly and preferably instantly, nevertheless.</p><p>“Nope, just business partners,” he utters and licks his lips. Louis’s letters have been very friendly back in the day, adding random anecdotes from his sibling’s mischief between the lines of business.</p><p>“Mhh, he was upset when you left. ‘He acted as if I spat in his face after I told him I poisoned his dog’, he said. And I kinda agree, you know?”</p><p>Harry shrugs and presses his lips together as he watches the ‘Level complete’ screen fade and the next level open. “I was in a rush,” the vampire murmurs meekly.</p><p>“Yeah busy at three-thirty in the morning on a Friday, my ass. You were an asshole, Styles. The guy was already on the floor and you kicked him in the gut.” Freddy plucks the phone from his hand and throws it on the two-seater across the room, watching it bounce off the cushion and slap on the floor. “Not sorry about that, I hope it’s broken,” he adds.</p><p>They are quiet for a moment and Harry stares at the black phone on the floor. “How is he,” he whispers.</p><p>“Better, actually. Fever is gone, and he got some colour back. Still got cold hands but the warmth should come back to those soon. He says thanks for supplying him that night.” </p><p>He nods and turns his gaze to the collection of old books on the shelf. “I guess he was kind of my first real crush back in the day, I suppose,” he utters. Freddy gently places a hand on his jaw, trying to turn his head towards himself but Harry doesn’t budge. He can’t talk to his ex about his first wank inspiration. It’s embarrassing enough that the man has seen his sorry excuse for helpful behaviour that one night.</p><p>“Oh, so why did you feel the need to be a dick, then? If you liked him?”</p><p>He shrugs and looks to Freddy’s knees in his laps. “Since when do you wear jeans? You always preferred joggers or these linen pants.”</p><p>“I got a date later today, wanted to look nice. Moh is taking me on a paddleboat and barbeque date at the park.”</p><p>“Sounds nice,” he hums. “Wasn’t your first date something with paddleboats as well?” Freddy nods and smiles softly. Harry knows the smile all too well – it’s that kind of smile you give your loved one, your partner, your ride or die. He had the privilege of being the cause of that smile a few times before they broke up.</p><p>“I bet it will be romantic, then.” Freddy, oh beautifully naive Frederick. He gently pats his knees and smiles. “Don’t drink and paddleboat, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”</p><p>The man snorts and nods. “Will do, Mr Maker. Do you want me to give you Louis’s number? Like, he needs a supply until he finds a source for himself. And maybe you two could talk?”</p><p>Harry shakes his head and sighs. “I’ll just give you some bags. I go to the butcher tomorrow around noon, I’ll just ask for a few more.”</p><p>He hears the other man sigh and they get up.</p><p>“Oh, so you’re pissed now and just kick me out, then?”</p><p>“Exactly, now get out. I want to take a bath.” The two men move to the hallway and Harry watches as the other puts on his shoes.</p><p>“Yeah, you reek. No offence.”</p><p>“None taken, now have fun,” he grins. “Say hi to Moh from me.”</p><p>“Will do.”</p><p>The two hug and he locks the door after the man leaves the flat. Artie barks in his bedroom and – right, the dog. He spends his evening in a bubble bath reading Jane Austen and sipping on cheap white wine from the bottle.</p><p>○○○</p><p>He parks the car and quickly locks it before entering the small butcher tucked away between a pharmacy and a fashion boutique. The old bell above the entry chimes and he smiles at the familiarity. “Hello, Mrs Quinn.”</p><p>The woman behind the counter smiles and nods. “Hello Harry, Bertram is back in the kitchen, he’ll be out in a minute.”</p><p>“You two are saints,” he grins and eyes the display of delicacies. “Do you have some nice pieces of steak? I wanna use my cast iron skillet again before it forgets what an oven is.”</p><p>The woman quickly stabs a slab of meat and pulls it on the counter. “Lean, not too fatty but nice grain. We got the cut yesterday from a farm by Guildford.” He nods and she packs up the meat. A built man enters the space behind the counter and sets a Styrofoam box on it.</p><p>“Hello, Harry. I added a few more like you asked,” he says and takes the cash the man slides across the counter.</p><p>With the container beneath his arm, he returns to his flat and unlocks the door. The hallway smells faintly of oranges and he smiles. There is a lot of older couples living on his floor and quite a few grandchildren are always going in and out, occasionally their laughter and shrieks of joy would echo in the halls. More than once he came home and the elevator opened with children inside begging him to stay quiet as they were playing hide and seek. Who is he to tell. He’d merely grin and shrug – “What children, I only know the peas in my grocery bags” he’d say and their giggles warmed his heart. So naturally, a smell of freshly baked goods would waft through the complex. Christmas time was like living in a bakery. And more than once he himself had profited from his elderly neighbour’s generosity and received leftover cookies.</p><p>He enters the flat and pets Artie, sticking his leg out to stop the animal from darting into the hallway. “Yes, we will go for a walk in a second, just you wait Artie.” Quickly stocking the small mini-fridge in his pantry with the bags of ‘juice’ he grabs an apple and leashes Artie.</p><p>Their walk is brief in Hyde Park and he lets the dog run free in the dog park as he sits on a bench and watches.</p><p>“I knew you would be here.” Harry watches the dog. “Harry?”</p><p>“Mh?” He looks around and spots Niall behind him. “Oh, Niall. Sorry, didn’t think I’d meet anyone here today.” He gives him an apologetic smile and scoots over to let his friend take a seat next to him.</p><p>“You literally come here every week at the same time like a ritual.”</p><p>“I like my routine,” he mutters weakly.</p><p>“You’re a creature of habit, just admit it,” Niall grins and gently elbows his side. Harry laughs and turns his eyes back to his dog. “So why are you here?”</p><p>“I have more questions,” the other man murmurs. “Like, about... you know..”</p><p>Harry nods and gets up, whistling through his teeth to call Artie over. He attaches the leash and scratches his back. “Sorry, buddy, cutting playtime short today.” He turns to Niall who watched him silently. “Come on then, don’t wanna talk about that with people around.” Niall nods and shoots up from the bench and the two walk back to his flat. Maybe he could go on a jog with Artie in the evening, so the dog doesn’t have to pent up his energy. He locks the door behind them and toes off his shoes.</p><p>“So, ask away. Want some tea?” Niall nods and follows the two into the kitchen.</p><p>“Is that a samovar?” Harry nods and grins.</p><p>“A gift from a friend for Christmas some years ago.”</p><p>“So.. uhm... I googled some stuff, obviously, it’s all from Wikipedia or some other unreliable websites –“ “Wikipedia is actually pretty reliable because the editors of any article usually have to provide sources to their edits or additions and the website checks the new content,” he chimes in, interrupting Niall. “Uh, anyway, go on..”</p><p>“Riiight, so I read vampires are unkillable?”</p><p>Harry hums and drops a teabag in his mug, leaning against the counter. “Not really,” he shrugs. “that’s where Dracula is somewhat correct there, but please don’t ram a stake through my chest while I’m asleep, ok?”</p><p>“So a wooden stake can kill you?”</p><p>Harry nods in confirmation and chuckles. “Yeah. There are a few more ways to get rid of us, but I’m not gonna tell you those.”</p><p>“Why,” the Irishman whines, sitting at the table. “You can trust me, H.” </p><p>“I know, but – no offence – I don’t feel like sharing the ways to kill mythicals with a species that burnt women for knowing math as witches, as stated already.” </p><p>“Right, right, sorry. Uhm, and like how do vampires even exist?”</p><p>“Mhh,” he picks up the teabag string and swishes the bag around in his ceramic. “There are a few ways, as well. I got no idea how the first of us came to be, or why. There are some myths but I don’t really believe they cursed Adam’s first son on the base of Eve fucking up so he may never die, you know? So, you see, I was turned by my maker forcing their blood down my throat and then my heart gave out, Fre-“ </p><p>“You <em> died  </em>from a bite?”</p><p>“No, but I was injured and close to death, my maker happened to find me and since then I had their blood in my system when my heart did stop, I turned almost instantly,” he explains. “Anyway, Frederick was turned by me biting him and injected venom in him. Back in the day a lot of people turned due to improper burial methods or animals jumping over fresh graves. I knew someone who turned after they died alone so that apparently can also happen,” he shrugs and takes the teabag out of the mug and disposes of it. </p><p>“Oh. What are improper burials, anyway?” </p><p>“I wouldn’t know,” he laughs. “Maybe being laid to rest face down or without a tombstone maybe? Just google it or something. I had a nice burial as far as I know,” he giggles as he rummages through his cabinet. </p><p>“You were buried? Alive?”</p><p>“Once, yeah. Because I had glamour on and everything and someone saw me ‘after I passed’ I had to have a burial fit for a nobleman,” he shrugs. “Had my maker dig me up in the night after the funeral and all. My tomb is still on the graveyard, just not very well-kept. After that I just always moved when my life was ‘close to an end’,” he raises his hands and symbolizes quotes in the air. </p><p>“And what the fuck is glamour?”</p><p>“An ability vampires get once they turn.” He shrugs. “It gives me the ability to change my appearance.”</p><p>“Humbug.” </p><p>“It’s not Christmas, Ebenezer .” He huffs and runs his hand through his hair, the short brown curls disappearing in an instant and long grey strands fall down his shoulders, twisting and curling at the ends. He feels his face relax and he rolls his shoulders. He turns to his friend and the man stills, mouth falling open and eyes widening at once. His young skin was gone, instead, his face was marked with deep smile lines around his mouth and nose, crow’s feet evident around his eyes and the frown lines on his forehead deepened over time. </p><p>“What the actual fuck,” Niall wheezes and scoots back with his chair, heart beating so quick and loud Harry can hear it. </p><p>“This is how I looked at age,” he stops for a moment to think, “seventy-four, I think, when I died in 1689.” His voice was more gravelly as well, so he clears his throat and licks his thin lips. Rubbing his hands across his face his appearance slowly returns to his twenty-six-year-old self, and he smiles. “That’s glamour. Right now, I look like I normally look without any on. But I’ll rely on it wherever I go a few years down the line. Now calm down, you’re too young to have a heart attack on my kitchen floor.”</p><p>Niall takes a slow breath and nods, rubbing his hands across his thighs. “And, uh, I read there are different kinds?”</p><p>“Of what?” Niall shoots him a bored look with a raised brow and Harry chuckles, taking his mug and adding a small amount of honey to the beverage before sitting down at the table as well. The black wood has a few round stains on its surface from when Harry was particularly careless about spilling his drinks. “Kidding. Yeah, there are three main ones I know of – ones sustaining on blood, ones that don’t drink blood but sustain themselves by draining the life force of the victim, and ones that are simply crazy and deranged.”</p><p>He hasn’t met many other mythicals that exist, but he has met each type of vampire. After his run-in with a malkavian vampire that ended with a broken jaw and a punctured lung, he was glad that that kind was almost extinct. </p><p>“Is it cool living forever?”</p><p>He takes a sip of his tea and smiles as the warmth spreads in his mouth and slides down his throat. He looks at the shimmer of the light in the mug and shakes his head. “It’s kinda shit. Sure, cool that I have all the time in the world and that I can do whatever I want and learn whatever I please, but it gets lonely,” he muses, taking another sip. “Like, when you die as a human you just die, that’s it. No more responsibilities, no more obligations, just peace. It was fun at the beginning, I went to a dozen colleges to get degrees in anything I wanted because it was interesting. But, you know, at some point you realize your friends from whatever life are dead, your family has long passed on, and a lifetime is a mere drop in the sea of life.”</p><p>“But you make new friends,” Niall throws in, scooting closer to him. </p><p>“Sure, but at some point, they will pass, too. My friends I fought with side by side in the trenches are all dead now, and one day I will attend your service too,” he sighs. The lifetimes he had are merely the beginning of his own eternity, death and peace a privilege he was forced to give up when he turned. “I can and will make new friends to live with, but hardest is forever living with myself,” he mutters. </p><p>He went to hundreds of church services, giving his friends the last honour and the more funerals he attended, the duller the pain got. Each of these people held a piece of his heart, his heart hurt whenever he knew he made a friend. It was alright that they passed away, nobody but him could escape Grim’s cold cruel clasp, but deafened pain was still present. </p><p>He is a collection of everyone he ever waved goodbye to the afterlife. His existence a mere mosaic – unfinished and grand. He is his love for oranges, his admiration for poetry, his fascination for botany and animals. He also is the way he only ever drank chamomile tea with honey because Frederick drinks it that way. The preference of blue to black pens he picked up from a co-worker in the 70s is as much part of him as the way he crosses his legs in armchairs like a character in his favourite novel does. The mosaic might never be finished, but each part of himself, each part he absorbed of others, made a small part of himself that added to the artistry of his presence.</p><p>There is a knock on the door and he sighs, shaking his head and he gets up. “Be right back,” he utters and opens the front door, looking around. There was nobody in front of the door, and nobody in the hall either. He shrugs and closes the door again, almost crashing into Niall’s form as he turns around.</p><p>“I need to get home, sorry, Harry,” an apologetic smile spreads across his face. “I’ll text you, alright?”</p><p>He envelops the man in a big hug and pats his back twice, smiling. “Get home safely, okay? And if you can think of any other questions, make sure to ambush me at home, not in public,” he grins at his own teasing undertone. Niall’s one of the most respectful beings ever, so he knew he would respect it and Harry’s wishes anyway.</p><p>He lets Niall exit the flat and watches him as he enters the elevator, smiling as the iron door close.</p><p>Harry closes the door and returns to his now cold cup of tea. He quickly downs the beverage and licks his lips, sighing. He looks around, eyes landing on the fridge. He could make the steak now. He starts preparing his dinner, occasionally sipping type A from a glass. There is another knock on the door and he sighs. Abandoning his skillet he walks to the front door and opens it – only to be met with the absence of another human. He huffs and looks around, spotting an orange ball on the ground beside his door. He frowns and picks it up. Someone pestered him for... for an orange. His eyes roll and he clicks his tongue, closing the door and returning to the kitchen. He places the fruit in the basket alongside a bundle of bananas and his small green apples and resumes his dinner. He throws together some quick roast vegetables as well and adds a bit more garlic to the iron skillet in the oven.</p><p>He has barely planted his bum on the kitchen chair to dig into his meal when it knocks again, the four light raps slicing through the silence in the rest of the flat. He looks down to Artie who patiently sits by his feet, thumping his tail on the tiles and eyeing his platter. He shrugs and starts eating, smiling at the refined taste. Another series of knocks rings in his ears, a little firmer this time. A scowl forms on his face and he gets up and returns to the front door, opening the door. No human, no mythical, no animal, just another orange. He glares and picks it up again, slamming the door shut. Not a second later another knock rings out and he rips it open again – again alone with an orange. The fruit is ever so slightly bobbing from side to side on the carpet and he huffs.</p><p>“For fuck’s sake, stop doing this shit.” He grabs the fruit and squeezes it tightly, slamming the door closed again. His jaw is tight and it hurts his teeth from how tight it’s clenched, so he takes a deep breath and simply puts the two oranges to the other one and eats his dinner.</p><p>The knocks continue for a whole week. Always in the evening, always when he is at home ready to eat dinner. There is always an orange left behind.</p><p>On Friday, the four raps slice through the silence in his flat just as he put his empty plate in the dishwasher. He groans. “Frederick when I see you again I will skin you alive,” he grumbles and trudges to the door, opening it and staring down at a small basket of oranges. Each one was adorned with a thin brown thread tied into a bow, and a small card sticks out beneath the fruits. The white paper is a huge contrast to the harsh orange peels and he sighs while picking up the woven basket. He sets it down on the sideboard beside his keys and a small jar of dog biscuits.</p><p>Harry purses his lips and stares at the basket. He loves Oranges, but at this point it’s bothersome. He has to eat two oranges a day just to make sure none of mother earth’s gifts go to waste. He gingerly plucks the envelop out and opens it.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>At lunchtime I bought a huge orange—<br/>The size of it made us all laugh.<br/>I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—<br/>They got quarters and I had a half.</p>
  <p>And that orange, it made me so happy,<br/>As ordinary things often do<br/>Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.<br/>This is peace and contentment. It’s new.</p>
  <p>The rest of the day was quite easy.<br/>I did all the jobs on my list<br/>And enjoyed them and had some time over.<br/>I love you. I’m glad I exist.    </p>
</blockquote><p>He frowns. The letter was written with a black pen, writing unfamiliar and scribbled and small on the piece of cardstock – like the words were whispered on the page. He reads the words over and over again, sighing. It makes no sense. Sure, it’s oranges.</p><p>He fishes out his phone from his joggers and dials the number, listening to the dial tone. “What do you want,” Frederick huffs once he picks up.</p><p>“Bit mean today, mh,” Harry hums, Frederick’s heavy breaths meeting his ears. “Did I interrupt you at the gym?”</p><p>“No,” the man on the other line breathes. “I was getting dicked down. Now what do you want, Harry,” he seethes.</p><p>“Right,” he scratches his neck and presses his lips together. “Sorry, but can you stop sending these dumb oranges? I’m getting sick of them,” he mutters.</p><p>“Harry, I know you’re smart, but I did not send you anything. I sent you a picture of my engagement ring though.” His voice tone increases and Harry smiles automatically. Freddy was happy, that’s great. “Don’t know who sent you... oranges you said? Yeah, no idea. And now hang up or you’ll hear me get fucked into the next century.”</p><p>Harry clears his throat and mumbles a quick “Sorry, bye,” and hangs up. He shudders and licks his lips, staring at the orange basket. Another round of oranges as a snack it is, he huffs and picks up the box and sets it on his kitchen counter. He puts the fruits into his designated fruit basket, smiling.</p><p>He is so sick of the orange fruit in his kitchen, much more of having to eat them daily, but he loves them. They have an exquisite taste he has never tasted before – surely they aren’t from Tesco or Lidl. He places the last product in the basket and spots another folded piece of paper at the bottom of his gift. He picks it up and unfolds it to full size. The writing is the same scribble as in the card – the orange poem – but it was bigger, more confident. The black ink is pressed firmly into the page, harshly, screaming the words into the paper.</p><p>He skims the paragraphs slowly.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Many people see my<br/>Death as a tragedy.<br/>That is very wrong<br/>in my opinion<br/>They did not tell you that<br/>When Apollo gave me wings,<br/>I knew I would burn up in flames<br/>I knew you see,<br/>I knew the agony I would face</p>
  <p>And as I fell,<br/>I knew I did it for the sun,<br/>As hot burning wax slithered<br/>Down my spine,<br/>As seductive kisses of agony<br/>peppered my skin and muscle,<br/>I laughed.</p>
  <p>I laughed as where I saw beauty,<br/>Others saw pain.<br/>I love it you see,<br/>it was addictive and<br/>Even Dionysus would<br/> marvel at my insanity.</p>
  <p>And now,<br/>As I wait for judgement,<br/>In the land of Hades,<br/>I ask myself,<br/>“Was it worth to fall for the sun?”<br/>And I answer,<br/>“Yes it was.” </p>
</blockquote><p>He stares at the paper and licks his lips. Icarus and oranges. He swallows. He looks at the pile of oranges. Harry gingerly places the paper on the counter and walks back to the hallway. He opens the door and unlocks it, stepping out into the hallway. He’s met with silence and solitude.</p><p>“Do you want to come inside,” he whispers, voice merely travelling across the width of the hallway.</p><p>There is a blurry spot in the corner of his eye and he faces it – only to be met with Louis. “I’d love to come inside, please,” he whispers equally as quiet.</p><p>Harry nods and steps back inside, opening the door further. Louis enters after him and slowly takes off his shoes and jacket as Harry watches his careful movements. His hair is shiny now, and his skin has a soft golden undertone to it now that he is out of deprivation.</p><p>He is a ray of sunshine, emitting an aura of warmth and familiarity.</p><p>“Why oranges,” he blurts out. Louis’s head snaps up and their eyes meet. “Why not just stay instead of leaving fruit in front of my door?”</p><p>Louis licks his lips – they look pillowy and he wants to rest and indulge in them. “I was scared, I suppose. You didn’t seem very happy to see me.”</p><p>He sighs. “Come, let’s sit down,” he murmurs and guides them to the couch in the living room. Artie trots to them and lays down beside his feet. “That’s Artie.”</p><p>“I met the lad, he licked my face when I was down,” the man chuckles softly and pets the animal. “Good boy. Is Artie his full name?”</p><p>Harry looks at him and cocks his head to the side. “Frederick talked, huh?”</p><p>“Yeah. I didn’t peg you for someone who was into puns. But Sir Arthur Canine Doyle is quite cute, I will admit,” he smiles and his eyes hold so much joy Harry wants nothing more than to embrace the euphoria Louis seems to carry with him wherever he goes.</p><p>“Yeah, the actual one would roll over in his grave if he were ever to hear that pun,” he smiles weakly.</p><p>“You knew him?”</p><p>“Briefly.”</p><p>Louis nods and looks to Harry’s hands. He’s wearing two rings on his right hand. He started wearing rings a few years ago when he found a cute one with a bear on the side, and ever since then his collection has grown rather quickly. He’s grown very fond of a chunky rose ring, yet his favourite remains the bear ring.</p><p>He toys with a ring, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I don’t hate you,” he mutters after a moment of silence. “I just – I did not expect to see you... ever again, really.”</p><p>“Makes sense, I guess.” Louis is silent for a beat. “But it nonetheless hurt to see you act like you hate me.”</p><p>Harry swallows and squeezes his hands together, nodding. “Yeah, Frederick called me an asshole for that already.”</p><p>“The chicken isn’t wrong about that,” Louis adds, voice flat. Harry clears his throat and squirms, scratching Artie by his feet. “But you’re the reason I didn’t go under, so I’m not all too furious with you.”</p><p>“I don’t like it when you’re cross with me,” he whispers with a shaky voice. There is no denying he missed Louis. When Harry turned 80, he thought Louis had passed on with the belief that Harry hated him. “But I’d rather you are cross with me, than not be there at all,” he carefully adds, honesty heavy on his tongue.</p><p>Louis sighs and nods. “I’m glad you’re well, too, Harry. I’m – I’m not gonna lie, I might gonna be a little bitter for a while, alright? It really hurt that you acted like that. But I don’t hate you. I could never,” he assures, placing a cool hand on Harry’s bicep, causing goosebumps to appear on his skin. “Just, you know, don’t act like I killed your grandma and I’ll be fine in a few days,” he chuckles meekly. Harry merely nods and licks his lips.</p><p>“Your hands are still cold,” Harry mumbles and places a hand on Louis’s. “Do you want anything to drink?”</p><p>“No, it’s alright. I actually found someone to provide me for a while, I just always have cold hands,” the man chuckles. “Never been good with the cold.”</p><p>“So... What have you been up to since – since you turned, I guess?”</p><p>Louis leans back, removing his hand from Harry’s skin, leaving the spot empty. “Well, was Marquess for a while, turned around four years after we first met, then just travelled around Europe. Prague was my favourite, I’d say. Now I’m trying for a life in London,” he says and gets more comfortable on the couch by pulling his legs up. “And you? Anything interesting, other than your Ex being a whiney chicken?”</p><p>His cheeks turn red, ears warming and he bashfully looks down. “Yeah, we met between the wars – turned him before the second one. Didn’t work out for more than a few decades, you know? But I have to put up with him,” he chuckles and gets up, starting a flame in the black fireplace beneath the TV. “I spent most of the time in the UK, well in England. Don’t think I’ve ever set a foot in Northern Ireland.” He adds a few wood pieces to the pile of starter and settles back down on the sofa.</p><p>“Don’t think I have, either. Was in Dublin a few times, though.”</p><p>Harry nods and looks at the man. He looks comfortable, one leg casually laid on the cushion beneath him and one perched up. Artie seems to see his spread legs as an invitation as much as Harry, and the dog jumps up on the sofa to settle on the leg, thumping his tail. “Artie,” he whines.</p><p>“Ah, let him. I love a good cuddle. Right boy, you just want a nice cuddle from someone who’s not your owner,” the shorter man coos and scratches the space between his ears.</p><p>Harry watches the interaction with a hidden smile, and a level of envy he is vaguely concerned with. “He’s usually not very friendly with strangers. He still doesn’t like Frederick and he’s known the guy for – what – seven decades?”</p><p>Truthfully, Artie is the clingiest and most friendly dog you might find at a dog park. More than once he went up to other dog owners and would just nudge them for pets and revels in any attention he can get. But over time he learned that people felt happy when an unfriendly animal takes a liking to them. So, yeah, he lies about Artie being hesitant so others get this small day-to-day situation happiness on the regular.</p><p>“Well, I’m honoured you like me, Arthur Canine Doyle,” the smaller man coos and cups the dog face gently, smacking a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Best boy, yes you’re the best lad.”</p><p>“I’m sorry for never writing back,” he blurts, staring at Louis. Him, being in a hunched position over the animal, tilts his head back and raises a brow.</p><p>“It’s fine. I figured I was a little <em>too</em> friendly when you stopped.”</p><p>“No, I just,” he huffs and runs a hand through his hair. “I was feeling things my sisters used to describe their husbands with, but I thought sodomy was wrong, and all that. I just thought it was better to stop before I got in too deep.”</p><p>Louis chuckles and sits back up. “Yeah, I remember your estate church, little catholic poster boy. I get where you’re coming from. I struggled with it for a long time as well. But,” he licks his lips, “you’re comfortable now?”</p><p>He nods and looks to the fireplace. “Out and proud and very gay,” he chuckles. “Not many, you know, first-hand experiences, but the community is lovely.” Louis nods and a soft smile takes over his features. “Are you a little warmer, by the way?”</p><p>Louis follows Harry’s gaze and smiles more, nodding. “Yes, thank you. Might gonna move in front of it to warm my feet. But Artie is so sweet, I can’t bring myself to shoo him off.”</p><p>“Yeah, he’s too lovable for his own good at times,” he grins. “Want some dinner, I still have some leftovers.” He sees Louis open his mouth, hesitant to give an answer. “’s a vegetarian Lasagne and some mixed salad. I have more than enough,” he quickly throws in.</p><p>“I – yeah, alright. But not too much.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The first poem is "The Orange" by Wendy Cope<br/>and the second poem is "Icarus" by An-Sifakah !</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>heads up, this chapter somewhat talks about death. the part isn't very graphic, but still, you can skip it. It's the cursive part around the beginning.  I'll summarize it briefly in the endnotes (like a three-sentence kind of brief) if you don't want to read the part but know what it's about.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry carefully places the plate in front of the other man, a shy smile gracing his lips. “I hope it’s fine, I quite like it.”</p><p>“Well, you’ve been cooking for – what – three centuries? It can’t be that bad, don’t worry dearest,” he muses and slowly starts eating. Artie has taken the liberty of following them to the kitchen and resting his head on Louis’s knee, staring up at the fork with round big eyes and tail wagging on the tile floor. </p><p>“I mean, I guess so,” he mutters. “Want something to drink?” </p><p>Louis looks at him and swallows, taking a moment to think before bobbing his head up and down. Harry makes quick work of filling a cup with L type and setting it on the table. It is a weird feeling. Usually, the pantry stayed locked in case someone was to snoop and stumble upon his supply of dozens of blood bags. But now, Louis is sitting so casually in the kitchen, sipping and sighing in content when the thick liquid hits his tongue and it feels so – normal. No nagging voice in the back of his head bleating about locking the door or the low buzz of anxiety beneath his skin that reminds him that he could be exposed at any moment someone is in his flat. And it’s nice. </p><p>He sits down in the other chair and coyly smiles. “How did you get my address?”</p><p>“Frederick told me he went to check your flat, and I trailed his scent and then just read the bell tags downstairs.” </p><p>“So, you stalked me, too?”</p><p>A grin takes over Louis’s features, eyes gleaming. “No, for a matter of fact, I stalked Frederick who just happened to lead me right to you.”</p><p>He sighs dramatically, slumping back into the chair and he throws his head back as he holds his chest. “Your words wound me. Here I was, thinking I was worthy to be stalked by you.” The display causes his guest to giggle and he looks at him, grinning at the hand covering the other man’s mouth. </p><p>“You, your Honourable, are not worthy and I request – no – I demand the annulment of your noble titles,” he giggles and waves his knife around in the open space between them. </p><p>“Egad, you have foiled my plan to be the duke of everything,” Harry muses and pets Artie’s back softly, scratching at a spot. The dog thumps his tail fast against the floor, stretching his head back and wiggling his leg along. </p><p>“I knew you were the villain in the story,” Louis states as he places his empty dishes in the sink. “I’d do the dishes, but I am but a guest and guests do not work.” </p><p>“Oh, my Lord, shall I fetch you a warm towel and some rosewater as well,” he questions, voice adjusted to a high and nasal sound. </p><p>“No, but I would like some music. If you cannot get me a string quartet I presume you have some records?”</p><p>Harry stares at the man before a silly grin causes his facade to crumble and his dimples to appear on his warm cheeks – they have a red tint to them, no doubt. “I don’t have a string quartet, no, but I have a violin if you really want to hear that.” </p><p>Louis leans against the counter, arms crossed in front of his chest and Harry wants to embrace him – wants him to embrace Harry – bask in their company. </p><p>Louis looks positively comfortable and soft, and he would lie if he did not think of kissing the man he should have done centuries ago. </p><p>“No, you cannot play. I can’t dance on my own.” He smiles. “Given you still know how to dance like back in the day.”</p><p>“There’s better dances.” It’s a weak argument, hell, he wouldn’t even consider it a valid argument. Harry was never particular to classical dance after the 1800s. (Or the 1900s? He can’t remember.) Dancing with heels left his calves sore and the muscles in his lower back used to sting in protest. New dance styles aren’t to his liking either. He enjoys watching people dance, though. The joy and jauntiness that takes over their faces and the way their muscles just relax and the worries they carried around forgotten for a while. </p><p>But Harry is a terrible dancer. With little sense of rhythm and his long limbs flailing more often than they move in controlled motions, he would stick out like a sore thumb on any dance floor. </p><p>“But I would like a nice waltz. Think of it as the last deed to be done before I forgive you for being a dick to me <em> and </em> ghosting me for decades, nay, centuries.”</p><p>He swallows and licks his lips, slowly nodding his head in ‘yes’. “What do you want to dance to?”</p><p>Louis shrugs and walks toward the living room like he owns the place the same way he owns Harry’s every breath and attentive second. “Anything old will do, proper ballroom, please.”He scampers to follow the man quickly, feet finally heeding to his will and he snatches his phone, quickly looking through Youtube for a song. </p><p>“No need to rush, dearest.” He flinches when a light touch caresses his shoulder and he looks at the other man. “We have time, don’t we,” he adds. He’s so close. Harry can see the faint freckles on his nose and the slight wrinkles around his eyes oh so clearly and he wants to kiss, wants to caress, wants to learn each tattoo and scar and mole and hair on the other man’s body. </p><p>“Right, sorry,” he croaks instead and clicks on a video. The soft sounds of an orchestra sound come out of the phone’s small speaker and find their way around the room and their forms. </p><p>A smaller hand takes his and he feels a gentle squeeze. “You lead, I follow,” Louis whispers as he places his other hand on the taller man’s shoulder and Harry holds his side carefully. Their feet move together in a practised fashion, sweeping across the floor with socked feet and light hearts. The sky outside is as dark as it can be with the light pollution of the city, and the lights are turned off. The faint flicker of the fireplace is the only light they use to navigate their moves around the blank space. The air around it provides a clinical warmth, though his heart feels warmer the longer the dance in darkness. </p><p>“I knew you still had it in you, Harry,” Louis whispers as he looks up to the man. Harry can only nod and a blush creeps up his chest and face when the former turns his head and rests his cheek on his chest. The hand in the nape of his neck squeezes gently and travels up to the back of his head. With a hesitant press and a soft tug on the hair, Harry rests his cheek on the shorter man’s head. </p><p>“Feels a tad familiar, mh,” he hums quietly, voice not even loud enough to echo in the room. He feels Louis nod and he lowers their hands, fingers still intertwined and bodies pressed close together as they sway in the middle of his grey area rug. </p><p>“Want to sleep over,” he breathes. “I have a guest room.”</p><p>“Don’t wanna sleep in the guest room. Couch?”</p><p>“S not the most comfortable,” Harry murmurs and squeezes his hand softly. </p><p>“Can you stay then? Just until ‘m asleep?” </p><p>He shouldn’t. Really, really should not give in to his desperate wish for romance, or friendship even, between them. But Harry is weak. His heart is louder than his sense of logic, so he nods before his brain gets scream objection. </p><p>They part and Louis smiles weakly, fatigue weighing the corners of his mouth down as well as his lids. Harry gently tugs on his hand and manoeuvres them onto the couch. “’s it alright if I hold you? It’d get very cramped otherwise,” he murmurs. </p><p>The shorter man nods and lays down in the space between Harry’s open arms, squirming around a few moments to get comfortable. He lets out a content sigh once he settles in the embrace, and sinks further into the gentle touches when Harry tugs a throw blanket over them and tucks it lightly beneath Louis’s back before he sets is arm down over his side. </p><p>“Alright?”</p><p>Louis nods slowly and sighs again, body going lax and heavy in his arms. Not long after his breaths even out and slow down, and Harry can’t help himself but gently place his lips on the crown of his head for a few heartbeats. </p><p>It’s a small gesture, nothing grand or important in the grand scheme of things, but the way Louis unconscious body rolls further into his hold when he removed his lips is enough to make him stay perfectly still for the entire night, tucking the blanket tight around them whenever it moves and uncovers a part of them. </p><p>○○○</p><p>The morning is slow. The fire in the fireplace had burnt down and died out around four a.m. and Harry watched the charcoal lose its hot red glow to turn black. At some point, Artie plopped down in his dog bed and slept soundly with the two mythicals in the room.</p><p>He feels the man squirm in his arms and he slackens his hold on him and takes a slow deep breath. “Good morning.”</p><p>Louis barely hums against his chest and he stretches his legs. He smacks his lips and opens his eyes to a tired-looking Harry. “You slept?”</p><p>Harry nods and smiles at Louis’s sleep rumpled form and mussed hair with a cowlick, whispering “Yes, I slept well.”</p><p>“Can I ask you something?”</p><p>Harry hums and nods, gliding a hand over Louis’s back and settling on the lower part. “Ask away.”</p><p>"How did you turn? I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but I can’t come up with any scenario that makes sense.”</p><p>Harry licks his lips, a pathetic try to smooth out the cracks and he looks at Louis who avoids his gaze. “’s not anything spectacular. Pretty boring, actually,” he whispers and toys with Louis’s shirt. </p><p>○○○</p><p>
  <em> It’s cold. Ice cold. The young man stares at the doctor who carefully closes up his leather bag, clasping it shut forcefully. The clasps are gold, but they seem dull and stained, so it might not be the best material, or the bag was old.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> His mother was speechless beside him, shoulders twitching with suppressed sobs and choked breathes. Her hair was down, which was unusual for her. She has not had the time to fetch a maid to finish her hairdo.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Are you sure? It does not seem,” he pauses for a moment to spare a glance at his mother’s curled form, “fatal or serious.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The doctor nods, a solemn look crosses his face. “I am afraid I have heard colleagues and apothecaries talk of the condition I believe your father has.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Harry swallows the lump that has been building up in his throat to the stomach full of knots. “And – And how did their patients end?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Some have passed shortly after he first symptoms appeared, some have lived a few months, others are still alive years after their diagnosis. I cannot say which case your father would count into.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “What are we supposed to do,” his mother whispers with a shaky voice. She wrings the white tissue in her hands. The woman’s lips are bitten raw, red to a point she is in no need of lipstick to accentuate that feature.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Well,” the man clears his throat and looks between Harry and the Lady Courtesy. “I suggest you all sit together, make sure everyone knows what to do in case of a sudden departure. Who will gain the title of earl, what work needs to be done and similar. I’m terribly sorry.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Harry can’t help but sneer at the false compassion the man offers their family. ‘I’m terribly sorry’ he says as he slides over the bill and with a smile. He swiftly turns on his heel and walks outside, the cold winter air hitting him at once and he huffs. The white cloud disperses quickly and he stalks across the estate grounds and into the woods.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He would not even call them woods. There are more bushes, weeds and knee-high thicket than trees.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> His feet are cold and his stockings are soaked almost instantly as he fights his way through the snow further into the woods. It’s lonely. Quiet. He swallows and looks up at the empty tree crowns. The branches stretch to grasp him, hold him hostage in their void, and he is calm.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He tightens his hold on the black cloak he snatched right before exiting the estate and he stomps further along a random path between the vegetation. Some hoof prints and paw prints catch his attention a few minutes into his walk and he smiles.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He loves when, once winter passes, the animals come to the meadows around the estate and the last years he had watched a few deer and fawn trot over the green fields. These little, insignificant hoof prints show him there’s more. More life to come, more happiness to spread and to receive.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He looks around and follows the tracks, lifting his knees higher when the snow is particularly high. In the distance, he spots a few brown blobs and he stands still before deciding to creep closer. Two deer and a small buck gnaw on a tree’s rind, indulging in the all-year-available treat. They just interrupt their feast for a short moment to glance at the young man before resuming their chewing.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Harry smiles and tilts his head to the side, watching the peaceful scenery.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He feels it before the sound rings in his ears.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A sharp pain, a stinging agony that spreads in his chest before he registers a loud bang echoing through the woods and bouncing off the trees. He gasps, a wet cough rattling his lung as he lifts a shaky hand to place it on his torso. He swallows and leans against a bare birch beside him as he watches the deer skip away to safety, leaving him behind in solitude.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He sinks to the ground, breeches soaked with melting snow and cloak soaked with boiling blood. He forces a wheeze past his lips – every breath is quickly turning to agony. His hand shakes when he lifts it from his chest, blood staining his skin and settling beneath his short fingernails as well.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Bile rises in his throat but he fights the feeling, coughing lightly only to groan at the jerking movements.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> What will his mother think when he does not return? His sisters? His father? His mother will be in shambles, her husband ill with no cure and her only son dead in the forest. Her heartache will send her to an early grave, he is sure of it.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The tears in his eyes blur his vision as he looks up to the sky. He never wanted to pass so young. Or alone.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A black shadow moves in his peripheral and he gasps, sputtering weakly. A man stops in front of him, slapping his cheek. “Don’t die on me, blue-blooded bastard,” the stranger mutters. Harry’s vision blurs further, tears and the loss of blood weakening him quickly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The hold on his hair is tight, uncomfortable and nowhere near as gentle as Mrs Esther was with him when she combed his hair. The man slaps his face again, a little more forceful and he feels his head lull to the side. The man mumbles something and Harry can make out the way he looks around panicked and with wide eyes before they settle back on Harry’s slumped body on the floor.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Every breath hurts, and he has no energy left so he shuts his eyes, swallowing.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Sorry blue blood, but I can’t have you die tonight,” is the only noise he can make out before his mind fades into black as well.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He startles awake with a wet cough, heaving and sputtering more spit than necessary onto the floor beside him. He’s cold. A weak finger twitch confirms his suspicion; he is still on the forest floor in snow.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Harry coughs against a lump in his throat and slowly opens his eyes, squinting when he is met with a still bright sky overhead.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Well, good day now. You scared me there.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He flinches and quickly scans the area. His eyes land on a man. He looks older than him, maybe around Alexander’s age and he is dressed in black velvet attire and a brown cloak. His long blonde hair is a mess where it frames his face.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Who-,” Harry sits up but groans and slumps back against the tree trunk.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Stay put blue blood. I’m Cuthbert.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Harry nods weakly, a frown spreading over his face when the events from earlier flood his mind. “Am I – am I dead?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Well,” the man sighs and approaches Harry. “Not anymore, I would say.” The frown only deepens, and he looks up, gaze lost. The blond man nods towards the ground and the noble slowly looks down and a weak scream escapes his mouth before he can control himself. His upper body is covered in blood, the black cloak heavy from having soaked the liquid up. The snow’s innocence around him is gone – and a tainted angry red has established dominance.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “We shall talk, you need to rest before I help you back to your estate. </em>
</p><p>○○○</p><p>They are quiet for a while. “It sounds better than what I came up with, I suppose. I did not believe you’d have turned willingly, so, yeah. It makes sense, I suppose,” Louis rambles quietly. Harry only nods. “Is there... Are there... Nevermind.”</p><p>“Scars?” This time it’s Louis’s turn to nod silently. “Yeah, there are a few.” He carefully removes his arms from Louis and leans back into the cushion, raising his t-shirt to his chin.</p><p>Louis doesn’t look at his chest at first. His eyes seem to be tied to his stomach, the tattoos he has on his lower torso contrasting nicely against his skin. Harry watches as the other lad lets his eyes travel across his chest before they stop on a cluster of round scars across his left breast muscle.</p><p>“Oh,” is the only noise that leaves his mouth and Harry smiles softly.</p><p>“It was some musket, I guess. Several small bullets and one big one.” Louis nods and carefully trails the scars with his fingertip and Harry’s skin erupts in goosebumps.</p><p>“And the tattoos?”</p><p>Harry shrugs a little and watches the hand travel from the circular scar to a swallow on the same side. “I like them, a bit of a permanent thing for each life I lived, what I have done and achieved.”</p><p>“What is this one about?” He feels the touch on his chest, just above he swallows.</p><p>“17 black was a gay speakeasy in Manchester. Was a nice place, that’s where I picked up polari and, well, Frederick I guess? We met there for the first time.”</p><p>“This one?” The touch moves to the other side of his chest and pokes the muscle. “Sun? Can you guess,” he teases.</p><p>Louis is quiet for a moment. “Icarus.” Harry nods and smiles when the man retracts his hand and gently grasps his arm, lifting it and poking the skin. “This one?”</p><p>“Bible because I was a good catholic kid, of course,” he giggles. Louis chuckles and nods.</p><p>“And the anchor on your wrist?”</p><p>He hums and loosely places his arm around Louis again. “It’s a cover-up. I guess the anchor because it fit my other ones, like the ship on my biceps or the rope on my back. It covered ‘I can’t change’. Was too obvious. One time some guys called me some shit in public after they saw that and the triangle, so I had it covered.”</p><p>Louis is quiet after that, snuggling further into Harry’s loving hold.</p><p>“When did you... know you liked men?”</p><p>Louis hums and squirms a little. “Maybe around 1840? No, wait when did they first develop the smallpox vaccine? Whatever, so around that time. Even had some kisses with some stable boy and a farmhand at some point. You?”</p><p>“Maybe before the first world war. So way later than you.”</p><p>“Darling, we have all the time in the world, and if you wouldn’t have figured it out until 2105, it’d be fine because it was the right time for you.”</p><p>A soft smile spreads over his lips, dimples likely prominent and he gently squeezes Louis against his chest. The man will be the death of him. A death he will not have physically have, but one that will have his heart burst with emotion and love will piece it back together, only to be filled and explode again. And, yes, it might be worth it.</p><p>And with him in his arms, the last verse of the poem makes sense, his mind connects the pieces and words as his heart attaches iron strings on his dependency on Louis.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>And now,<br/>As I wait for judgement,<br/>In the land of Hades,<br/>I ask myself,<br/>“Was it worth to fall for the sun?”<br/>And I answer,<br/>“Yes it was.”</p>
</blockquote><p>○○○</p><p>For days the two text at the most random hours of the day. After Louis had left his flat on Saturday after a late lunch. Louis sent him a text yesterday morning about how he watched a sparrow in a tree in front of his flat. Harry’s sent him a picture of his bubble bath at 2 in the morning. He just felt like taking a bubble bath, sue him. </p><p><strong> From Louis</strong>: What are you doing today? </p><p>He smiles and closes the email portal. The client can wait, the deadline not even close to around the corner. </p><p><strong> To Louis</strong>: Just some emails. You?</p><p>Not even a minute later his phone vibrates again and Harry giggles. </p><p>From Louis: Trying to decorate my new flat. A little birdie told me youre an interior designer? </p><p><strong> To Louis</strong>: I will rip the little birdie’s pots out if he keeps chirping. </p><p><strong> To Louis</strong>: But yes, I am. Need some advice?</p><p>There is no reply for a while, so Harry puts the mobile device aside and forces himself to focus back on his email. The clients were quite nice. They are an older couple and now that their last child is out of the house they decided to remodel and redo their entire ground floor. </p><p>When Harry was visiting their home to get a feeling for the space and the clients’ taste, he noticed the old-timey furniture. Most of it did not match – the couch was a dull grey, the two armchairs had black cushioning with white specks in the fabric. Their dining room had three different chair models and two pushed together tables. </p><p>When he raised an eyebrow at the monstrous setup they explained that they had six children, and four of them had their own kids already. </p><p>His phone vibrates and he picks it up right as the second message arrives in his inbox. </p><p><strong> From Louis</strong>: Not advice. </p><p><strong> From Louis</strong>: Im hoping youre gonna take me as a client and give me the friends and family rate </p><p>He grins. </p><p><strong> To Louis</strong>: Send me the address and I’ll decide how much of a hopeless case it is. </p><p>○○○</p><p>He looks up at the house. The orange brick and white trims stand strong against today’s grey skies. He climbs the steps and rings the bell, not even seconds later the black door swings open and Louis greets him with a big smile.</p><p>“Right on time, dearest. Come in, come in,” he gushes and drags Harry inside by the coat before closing the door behind him. “It’s bland, just bought her a week ago because I want to stay here for a while.”</p><p>Harry toes off his shoes and looks around. A few picture frames lean against the wall below the staircase, four pairs of shoes seem to be thrown in a corner haphazardly and through one doorway he can spot a myriad of cardboard boxes and stuffed shopping bags.</p><p>“So,” he starts and hangs his coat up. “Tell me, then, what do you envision? Any particular styles you like? What’s something you dislike you definitely would never want in your flat?”</p><p>Louis walks to the left and Harry follows him into the spacious kitchen. The dark blue counters fit nicely in the room. The man prepares a kettle and two mugs. They don’t match – one is white with a royal blue onion pattern, and the second one is a pale yellow with fingerprints on the handle.</p><p>“Nothing too modern, please. No offence, your flat is lovely, but I cannot stand all this modern stuff. Comfort over modernity. And maybe somewhat neutral, but nice colour like in between? Does that make sense?”</p><p>Harry nods. “Accent pieces. I could make most of it neutral, like beige, white, light greys and we can build maybe on the kitchen here? Add dark blue, in the room over there to tie it together?” He points a lazy hand to what he assumes is the living room.</p><p>“I like that. But, uh, I’d like one of those huge beanbag chairs? D’know what I mean? For the living room, instead of some armchair. I don’t like them,” he adds slowly, looking at the teabags he takes out of the mugs before disposing of them.</p><p>Harry smiles softly and nods, making mental note of the wish. He has long noticed that Louis likes comfortable things – softer things. He’s always wearing joggers, big hoodys, training shoes and his hair is rarely in any other hairstyle than a soft fringe against his forehead.</p><p>When he visited Harry’s flat, he snatched the fluffy throw blanket on the couch instead of the big knit one.</p><p>Maybe he should add some fuzzy blankets to the design and the final list of things as well.</p><p>“Yeah, I know which ones you mean.” Louis slides the yellow mug in front of him and Harry takes a sip. “Thank you.”</p><p>He grins and they talk about ideas over their chamomile tea. Harry pulls out his phone and shows Louis some pictures, some furniture he thinks would be the right ‘vibe’ (as Louis called it) and the saves the ones the other man likes.</p><p>After their mugs are empty they walk through the house, the rooms were bare and lack personality. As much as Harry hates new and empty houses, they are a welcome clean slate for him to work on. No “I don’t feel like the couch should go there” and definitely no “I’m not sure, I liked out old sofa better”.</p><p>“Do you know fairy lights? I feel like they would look nice over the windows here,” he adds and Louis nods in an instant.</p><p>“I had some in my old flat, I love them. Maybe some fake flowers as well, just here and there?”</p><p>Harry nods and they commence their tour.</p><p>“The second bedroom I’d probably make into some game room, and I’ll need a mini-fridge here I think. For, you know.”</p><p>“You realize you have a pantry in your kitchen, right? The slim black door? In this kind of house, it’s usually big enough for a mini-fridge.”</p><p>“That’s a pantry,” he squeaks, “I thought it was like a coat room!”</p><p>“off the kitchen?” They climb down the stairs and Harry points to another door in the hallway. “That’s likely a utility room, with connections for washing machine and dryer, and likely some coat stuff.” He chuckles at the other man’s lost expression and shakes his head. “Did you even look at everything before you bought this flat?”</p><p>“Yeah, but to be honest I was only interested in the location and the bedroom,” he chuckles as he rubs his neck.</p><p>“Yeah, seems like it. It’s fine. I’ll take care of everything.”</p><p>“Okay, now about the payment, check or via bank transfer?”</p><p>Harry clicks his tongue and smiles, leaning against the bannister. “I’m not going to charge you. Friends and family rate means you don’t pay for my time, only for the shit you want me to buy for you.”</p><p>“You don’t ha-“</p><p>“Louis, I am very well off. I do not need you to pay me a cent. If you want to do something good, take Artie out every once in a while when I am at furniture stores looking for your stuff. Poor lad is always inside when I’m out for work.”</p><p>“That’s all? Hell yeah, I’ll take it, I’m a dog person anyway,” Louis grins and walks back into the kitchen, sitting down comfortably. “How did you get him, again?”</p><p>“Found the mutt in a random ally after pub night. The poor puppy was shaking so much I didn’t have the heart to leave him there. So now he’s my good boy,” he sighs and sits down as well.</p><p>“How old is he?”</p><p>And, oh. That.</p><p>“Well,” he starts and clears his throat. “You know that vampires can share their life force with one being in their lifetime?” Louis nods slowly. Harry can see the moment the light bulb in Louis's head goes off and the man breaks out in a light-hearted laugh.</p><p>“You chose a <em>dog</em> to share your life force with? Oh god, others chose their child or a parent or a lover. A dog,” the man wheezes, face turning red quickly with a string of giggles leaving his lips. It’s just so light. His heart is light.</p><p>Harry blushes and nods. “Yeah, I know. But he’s <em>my</em> good boy, you know? And I mean, if I ever really want someone to stay with me for eternity, I could turn them,” he mumbles.</p><p>“God Harry, Frederick joked that you were an idiot but, good lord, you’re a downright moron. Heart of gold, but so damn dumb,” he giggles and pushes his chair closer to Harry’s, and he curls his arm around his shoulders. “You’re too precious, dearest, you know that?”</p><p>The blush on his cheeks travels further to his ears and his face is hot. Eyes cast to his lap he nods and shrugs simultaneously, huffing out a breath.</p><p>“You, my darling, are the light I needed today.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ok quick summary of the cursive part: Basically it's how H turned into a vampire. He was earl in his first life, and it was winter when he was out and he got accidentally shot, and a random vampire heard and ran to him before the ppl who shot H came and he turned him. That's that.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For a few days, it’s quiet, they just exchange short texts. Harry’s been in and out of the furniture stores, and in Louis’s house measuring the space while Artie stays over at the man.</p><p>Some evenings they spend the evening together, usually at Louis’s because Artie is already there. Artie enjoys the constant company, snuggling up to Louis whenever he can and the man spoils him more often than not.</p><p>Harry’s “you don’t have to buy him a dog bed, he’s spoilt enough as it is” was met with Louis’s “I’m the dog sitter I will buy him a chew toy of silk if I feel like it” and a mischievous grin.</p><p>So they end up on Louis’s cheap couch yet another night while the dog curled up in his lush dark blue bed and a shark plushy.</p><p>“This movie is so boring,” Harry groans and tilts his head back. “I don’t get why everyone was raving about it.”</p><p>“The sex scenes, Harold, the sex scenes,” Louis chuckles and pats his thigh. “The heteros think a movie deserves an Oscar as soon as a steamy scene is involved and they see some tits.”</p><p>He nods and licks his lips. “But like, this film is even worse. I’ve seen porn that was more believable than the character growth they are trying to portray in this shitshow.”</p><p>The other man laughs with a quick shake of his head. “Should I worry why your omi-polone ass watched het-porn? Wait, just for the plot, am I right?”</p><p>Harry snorts, nudging his foot. “Asshole. But to be honest, the porn plot was better than this movie. Can’t we watch something else? I’ll take anything.”</p><p>“I’ve got the Shrek movies,” Louis shrugs and Harry can’t fight the grin that takes over his face.</p><p>“Shrek? Oh, you’re that kind of gay.”</p><p>It’s Lou’s turn to gently kick his shin and shake his head. “No, but I rather like the plot. And the musical numbers are good, admit it.”</p><p>Louis got a grin on his face Harry recognizes. Not from the man himself. He’s seen enough children that were taught to not be overly excited and tone their enthusiasm down. They’d bite their lower lip or press their lips together, but the corners of their mouths would twitch upwards and their eyes would shine oh so bright – ready for fun, ready to learn. Louis got the same look of suppressed excitement and joy.</p><p>“The ‘I need a hero’ cover from the Fairy godmother was pretty amazing, yeah,” he grins back with dimples on full display.</p><p>When the first movie came out in 2001, he had dismissed it very quickly. An ogre, a talking donkey, Pinocchio, some princess that’s half-ogre are fighting against a king with dwarfism and a tendency to overcompensate while some baker is torturing a cookie? No thanks, he’s lived enough lifetimes to know that was a bad concept.</p><p>But after some of his friends back then kept teasing, he’d went to the cinema with a bottle of wine and emptied that while watching it. And, yeah, three years later he was one of the first people to watch the second movie when it was released to the public.</p><p>“So, Shrek it is. We have to watch it in order though. I won’t tolerate anything else.”</p><p>“And I don’t expect anything less,” he giggles.</p><p>Louis stretches and fishes the remote from the table before finally ending the torture of a pretend love story that’s more porn without plot than it is a heartfelt love story as advertised.</p><p>“Don’t understand how that actress even agreed to do that movie in the first place. She’s way too good.”</p><p>“Yeah, for sure. I saw one of her other works and that was wayyyyy better,” Harry breathes, stretching his limbs and sighing in content.</p><p>“Apropos actor, who is your famous crush.”</p><p>“Don’ have one, I don’t think.”</p><p>“Oh, c’mon Harold,” Louis grins, twisting back to lay his legs over Harry’s thighs. “Everyone has a celebrity crush. Who would you ditch your partner for, for a steamy night,” he wiggles his brows and digs his teeth in the soft flesh of his lower lip.</p><p>“I wouldn’t ditch my partner for anyone,” he pouts softly, gently squeezing the calves that lay rested in his lap. Louis squirms on the cushions and rests his side against the backrest of the couch, sighing. “But in some parallel universe, if a single and gay Arnas Fedaravicius would ask for a three-way, I wouldn’t say no.”</p><p>Louis snorts out a laugh, resting his head on the backrest as well. “Only you crush on heterosexuals.”</p><p>Harry pouts, carefully massaging Louis’s legs, feeling the tense muscles relax beneath his grasp. Back in the day he only caught fleeting glimpses on Louis’s built, and his muscles. Too covered and uptight were the clothes back then. Now, to causally feel the strong muscles is – different.</p><p>“He’s hot, can’t help it. And he seems really nice, good with kids as well.”</p><p>“Careful, your Honourable, I might get jealous over here.” The man’s face is graced with a wolfish grin, cheeks a soft red and his hair is oh so soft as usual.</p><p>“No need to get jealous, believe me,” he replies, squeezing the man’s thighs. Louis pulls one knee up and rests his foot on Harry’s. It takes a moment for Harry to register and he smiles softly, resting his cheek on the knee, keeping his eyes on the other man. The spot where Louis’s foot rests on his leg feels a little cold, and he drags a small blanket over his lap and covers the feet.</p><p>He really seems to always have cold hands and feet.</p><p>“Thanks, dearest.”</p><p>Harry hums softly, carefully continuing to massage the calves. The two watch two and a half Shrek movies, both engrossed in the movie and unashamedly belting ‘I need a hero’.</p><p>“Do you wanna stay for dinner?”</p><p>Dinner does sound good – Harry hasn’t eaten today yet. He doesn’t need it to sustain him, that’s what blood is for, but he’s got into a habit of eating two to three meals a day. Normal food tastes better anyway.  It was weird to eat at the beginning. When he first turned and learned that he only needed blood to survive and feel good he went weeks without eating, effectively worrying his family and friends into fetching each doctor they could find.</p><p>So he got used to eating around people as to not worry them. He didn’t grow heavier, perks of being a vampire he guesses, as well as gaining muscles faster.</p><p>“Yeah, what d’ya have?”</p><p>“Nothing, but there’s a good Pizza-shop down the road,” the man shrugs, curling his toes.</p><p>“Pizza it is then, as long as it doesn’t have anchovies.”</p><p>“No, I actually wanted an anchovy and fried egg pizza, with basil sauce and some pineapple,” he specifies with a straight face, but the higher pitch of his voice gives him away immediately.</p><p>“I don’t mind the pineapple, but if you dare to put fish on there I will charge you twice the amount for decorating your flat and I’ll never share a sofa with you again.” Louis chuckles and gently kicks Harry’s thigh, before resting his foot on it again.</p><p>“You would never, you adore me too much.”</p><p>Harry hums and looks toward the man. Louis, who helped him be more confident when they first met. Louis, who introduced him to the damn orange and encouraged him to take risks and plunge himself into new experiences, no matter how small and insignificant they might be to others and what gains he gets. Louis, who had whisked him away and made him forget how stressed and he was, providing him with a sense of calm and security.</p><p>Thinking back, he could have scolded him, ‘How dare you leave your own matchmaking party, that’s not what nobles do’; he could’ve laughed at him, ‘You are tired after a few dances? Oh, poor you’. But he didn’t. He simply made him escape the stuffy room heavy with perfumes and scented waters to bask in the silence of the night.</p><p>The dance they had – if you even could call swaying together from side to side a dance – was so similar to the one they shared in Harry’s flat a few weeks ago. It felt like he was transported back in time, back to his youth, but void of the duties of a noble.</p><p>“Yeah, I guess I do adore you too much,” he simply states, squeezing the leg in his lap gently and turning to look at Artie. “You wanna tell me how you got him to stay off the couch? He always tries to jump on it with me.”</p><p>“Truthfully? I let him on the couch all the time when you’re not around. He’s such a good boy, he deserves a comfy nap.”</p><p>“Yeah, because an expensive fluffy dog bed isn’t enough.”</p><p>“Principles, Harold, it’s all about the principles these days,” the other man says with soft eyes trained on Harry and an even softer voice.</p><p>They eat in silence once the pizza arrives – a family-sized one with, half pepperoni and cheese, half pepperoni, bell pepper, spicy sausage, mushrooms and a few more – and Louis only teases him for his somewhat healthy choices thrice. There’s no bite or viciousness in his voice, drenched in sweetness and a fond he cannot place.</p><p>The credits of Shrek Forever After roll over the TV, and Louis and Harry are resting on the couch still. “Need to get home,” Harry mumbles softly, “got work tomorrow in the morning.”</p><p>“’s eleven p.m. you’ll sleep here and go over tomorrow. Can’t have you fall asleep while running and hear about a handsome man being kidnapped in some park. C’mon, you can even choose if you want the couch or the bed,” Louis utters back and gently runs his hand through Harry’s tousled hair. His fingers snag in a few tangles but Harry can’t be bothered, and he sighs.</p><p>“Can share a bed maybe? You always got cold feet,” he mumbles, closing his eyes for a moment. Just a moment to rest. He also doesn’t need to sleep, but he prefers it. It’s a way to rest his body and his back has been bothering him for a few days now. And his eyes need a break after staring at a TV-screen for hours.</p><p>“Mh, I could use a personal furnace in bed,” it’s quiet for a moment before Louis gently pats his head. “Come up then, I’ll give you some joggers and a shirt.”</p><p>Harry nods and huffs, in an effort to collect his strength and force the need to sleep down for a few more minutes, and he follows Louis upstairs into the bedroom. The latter thrusts black thin jogging trousers and a white shirt in his hands.</p><p>“’s still thick blanket on the bed, don’t want you to sweat unnecessarily,” and he’s out of the room in a blurred blink. Harry quickly changes and settles on the bed, his back singing hallelujah and praise to whoever made the mattress. Closing his eyes he relaxes, a content sigh leaving his lips. The bedding smells of laundry detergent, a faux-natural scent is nice. Louis enters the room a moment later with a smile.</p><p>“Gave Artie some more dinner and more water, he should sleep well.” The man gets into bed and settles down on the left side of the bed as he flicks off the night light. The room darkens, only the street lamp outside provides some shine of light to the area.</p><p>Silence fills the space between them for a while.</p><p>“I have a weird request,” Harry starts. Louis hums and turns to face the taller man. “’s like – you can ignore the whole thing, obviously. Like, do you have some ball or summat?”</p><p>“A ball? Well, I have two.”</p><p>Harry’s face warms and he is eternally grateful for the darkness for Louis would have seen his red face. “Not like those, you moron. I usually use some weird muscle roller for my lower back when it’s unbearable, but obviously, I don’t, like, have it right now.”</p><p>Louis shifts closer, bunching the blankets between them up. “You got back problems?”</p><p>Harry nods and turns his head, cheek smushed in the pristine white pillow. “Yeah, when I was young my back didn’t agree with the last growth spurt, I guess. Lower back and the neck are a pain, quite literally.”</p><p>A soft hum reaches his ears. “Well, I have a tennis ball full of dog spit,” he starts, voice like syrup, sweet and slow. “I can give you a massage if you want, just to get the worst edge off,” he continues.</p><p>“You don’t have to,” the younger utters, slowly turning to lie on his belly.</p><p>Louis hums again; the tone is a little higher pitched than the previous. Frederick does that, too, his voice is higher-pitched when he’s smiling. Is it weird to think Louis might be smiling at Harry’s weird request? Never.</p><p>“Well, you’re already flat down, might as well. And I still am paying off the debt of you saving my ass those weeks ago.”</p><p>He tenses for a brief moment when a fleeting hand touches his back. “Only if you are alright with it,” he whispers. He doesn’t get a verbal reply, silence engulfing the bed as the hand presses into the tense muscles and working the knots out.</p><p>He sighs with closed eyes. Louis’s hand works the expanse of his back, occasionally tugging the shirt back down when it rides up with the motions.</p><p>“You are good with your hands,” he slurs.</p><p>“Yeah, was a masseuse for a few months, just for shits and giggles really. Learned a few nice things, though.”</p><p>He hums and licks his lips – they’ve become dry with the way he rests with an open mouth breathing deeply. Moments like these are where he wishes time didn’t exist. No measure of time – not a second, not a moment, not a lifetime – could compare to the feeling of belonging and security one feels in moments like these.</p><p>You say “moments like these”, but you don’t think about that one particular time on Thursday nights. You think of the feeling, the way your entire body feels at ease and you fall in love with the emotions you had in a particular state with someone you admire and adore.</p><p>They could say “once in a lifetime” all the time. Harry has had nine and hundreds more to come. There is no once in a lifetime, there’s only ever going to be new firsts for him.</p><p>And as he drifts off to sleep with a strong but caring hand rubbing his back and tucked away in a warm bed, these emotions are hopefully only the first of many more.</p><p>○○○</p><p>Waking up is an ordeal.</p><p>The phone vibrates against the nightstand. The bed is too warm and soft to leave it. His arm heavy on his back is grounding and keeping him right where he knows he wants to stay. Yet, the phone on the table doesn’t stop pestering him.</p><p>Harry sighs and sticks an arm out into the fresh air, turning the alarm off. It’s still dark out, the streetlight illuminating the room the way it did when the two went to bed.</p><p>“Want breakfast?”</p><p>He turns his head and is greeted with a bleary-eyed Louis and mussed hair with a prominent cowlick on the fringe. “No,” he whispers. “Wanna sleep in.”</p><p>Louis merely nods and closes his eyes, stroking Harry’s back softly before settling down again. He carefully turns around under the limb, and Louis retracts it. Harry immediately craves the weight of the touch again, keeping him warm, grounded and safe. He inches his way across the mattress and pokes the hand that now rests on the bed. “Put it back,” he utters with a voice roughened by sleep and that seems to be enough for Louis to embrace him again.</p><p>Another sigh leaves Harry’s lips and he sinks back into the bed, entering his unconscious state again.</p><p>The second time he wakes up the weight is still on his body, the warmth is still seeping through the thin fabric of the shirt and caresses his skin ever so gently. Almost as softly as a thumb draws circles on his side.</p><p>“There you are,” Louis whispers. “Good morning”</p><p>“Morning.”</p><p>“Sorry to wake you, but Artie’s been staring at your back for the past hour and I didn’t have the power to leave you alone to rise,” he whispers.</p><p>Harry slowly opens his eyes again and rubs at them with a clumsy fist, cringing at the crusty feeling of the night being rubbed away. He slowly twists his body to look at the side of the bed and, granted, two black eyes stare back at him.</p><p>Artie sees his owner awake as a sign that they go on a walk now, and he stands and wiggles his entire body, yipping at the men in bed. “Artie, behave,” he mutters. “We’ll go for a walk in a few moments, let me get dressed, you mutt.”</p><p>Harry peels himself out of the comfortable hold Louis had on him and the blanket. “Thank you for last night, by the way. My back feels so much better.” He turns to look at Louis. The man got up as well and rummages through his closet.</p><p>“Anytime. Maybe I’ll get one of your fancy massage rollers if that means you stay over more. For Artie, of course.”</p><p>Harry grins softly. “Knew it, you only want me for my dog.”</p><p>“Four your dog that will literally live for eternity,” he stresses, grasping the dog’s face and smacking a kiss between his ears. “I need a good boy companion for life, and you delivered me one on a silver platter. Next time you sleep over he’s still gonna be there, but the time after this you will wake up without me or Artie being there. We’ll be over the hills and in Hungary by then, living our best lives.”</p><p>“Sounds about right,” he giggles and makes a quick detour to the bathroom to get dressed. When he opens the door, Artie sits patiently in front of the door with his leash between his jaws, tail thumping against the hardwood floor.</p><p>“But we’d miss you too much, so we’d come back. Isn’t that right, boyo? We’d miss Harry a whole lot and his nice cuddles and him warming our feet.” Louis takes the leash and clips it on the collar.</p><p>Harry takes notice of the other man’s attire now – thick black joggers, the stiff hood of some black hoodie poking out from beneath a windbreaker and some atrociously yellow sneakers. “What’re you doing?”</p><p>“Walking you two home so it doesn’t look like a walk of shame. Now c’mon, don’t want him to piss on my floors.”</p><p>He regains control of his feet again and nods.” Right, yeah,” and they exit the house.</p><p>“Hope it was alright that I kept my arm around it,” Louis says after a while. The air is cold still, the birds chirping in the trees along the street.</p><p>“I liked it,” he answers. Harry’s always been a sucker for cuddles, especially being the little spoon or simply being held. He loves cuddling, time spent with nothing but one he loves and bask in their presence. Even sitting with Louis and sipping tea they prepared for each other was enough to make him feel warm all over.</p><p>He noticed that Louis’s love language seems to be touch, some kind of physical connection. There’s always a hand touching his back, feet perched on his thighs or stuffed between them and a sofa, a fleeting graze of fingers against his side or hand, or a heavy arm over his torso like last night.</p><p>“You like snuggling, then?”</p><p>He nods. “Yeah. The best reason to sleep the day away isn’t it.”</p><p>“It’s barely 9 a.m., the day is still in diapers taking wobbly steps and falling on its bum.”</p><p>He giggles and watches Artie lead the way. He’s been to Louis’s house enough times to know the way home it seems. The walk continues in comfortable silence, only birds and the occasional bark interrupting it.</p><p>“Wanna come up for breakfast?” The words leave his mouth faster than he can remember he has two dozen emails waiting in his inbox and a guest bathroom to clean.</p><p>Louis smiles and nods. “Only if you want me to, dearest.”</p><p>“Nothing I’d want more. You can help me eat those fucking oranges you sent me on Wednesday.”</p><p>“Hey, you like them, don’t deny it.” Harry hums in acknowledgement and they walk up to his flat, toeing off their shoes.</p><p>He’s over halfway through making breakfast with Louis sitting at the table petting Artie after he prepared them two immaculate mugs of tea. “Why oranges, anyway?”</p><p>“Do we have memories with Dragon fruit? Peaches? Apples? Grapes?”</p><p>“I mean, I guess not,” he shrugs and sets the plates down. “But why do you send them?”</p><p>Louis smiles and shakes his head. “Maybe you’ll figure it out. I’ll tell you eventually, though.”</p><p>“What does that mean now?”</p><p>“Means I’ll tell you if you haven’t figured it out by a certain point in time.”</p><p>Harry huffs and takes a sip, humming at the warm tea sliding down his throat. “And what time is that?”</p><p>“Just leave it, dearest. You’ll see when it’s time.”</p><p>“Give me a hint, then.”</p><p>“I gave you one already.”</p><p>“No, what’s t-“ “I’m not telling you. Let me enjoy this scrumptious meal you have prepared for me, now. Such an impatient host you are,” Louis interrupts him with a chuckle.</p><p>So they eat with Artie sitting at their side, begging for a treat. Their ankles are interlocked and Harry can’t and won’t deny that this is normalcy he could get used to.</p><p>“Have you ever told a human what you are?”</p><p>Louis looks up from his plate and raises a questioning brow. “Like, tell a human I’m a vampire?” Harry nods and takes a sip from his mug. “Yeah, pretty early in the 19<sup>th</sup> century I told a few. But I haven’t told anyone nowadays. I love my friends but I don’t trust the fuckers now as much. One drink too much and Twitter installed and shit could hit the fan way too easily. You?”</p><p>Harry hasn’t even considered that. Modern advancements made everything more secure, a secret was a secret between two and any device connected to Wi-Fi. Everything and everyone was more transparent than ever.</p><p>Back in the day, someone screaming they saw a vampire would get thrown into a sanatorium, labelled as insane. Nowadays? People eat up vampire books, movies, believe things they don’t even think could be true.</p><p>“Yeah,” he answers, swallowing the small lump in his throat. “My best friend, Niall. He’s a historian.”</p><p>Louis is quiet for a moment, his fork no longer hitting the plate. “Why?”</p><p>“Invited him over. Kinda dumb in hindsight. I left all my memorabilia out in plain sight, like the two-hundred-year-old books, or the antique sextant and I’m pretty sure he noticed the antique Globe in the corner.”</p><p>“Do you trust him?”</p><p>He nods at an instant, curls leaving his unkempt tiny top bun and falling to the sides of his face. “Yeah. He took a few days to wrap his head around it, guess he’s gonna have more questions. I don’t know if he should tell his partner, though. Or if he would.”</p><p>“Well, do you know her?”</p><p>“Them. Yeah, I know Emerson, lovely and oh so loyal and well-read. Just like Niall is.”</p><p>“Oh, sorry. So they would keep it a secret, too?”</p><p>He sighs and leans back. “I hope so. I mean, Em’s – as far as I got to know them – really a darling. They just get really giddy when there’s something cool or unusual involved, I guess. Maybe Niall won’t tell them if I don’t give him the go?”</p><p>Louis nudges his foot and smiles softly. “Don’t stress out over it. Invite them over maybe? Clear the air, if you are fine with both knowing?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” he sighs and wiggles his toes. “’s gonna be weird as hell.”</p><p>“Want me to be there?”</p><p>He looks up at the man, tilting his head to the side. His eyes wander to the clock hanging above the doorway and he licks his lips, nodding slowly. “Please. Only if you are alright with someone else knowing you are one, too.”</p><p>“Dearest, I wouldn’t have offered if I weren’t alright with it. I trust you have water hemlock in case things do go south?” He nods his head ‘yes.</p><p>The hours pass with cuddles, random discussions and a rather rejuvenating nap, and they settle into yet another silence while they prepare a large dinner.</p><p>“So, do I need to know anything about Niall and Em? Emerson?”</p><p>Harry dices some tomato. “Well, just call them Emerson for now, I guess. There’s not much to know about Niall. I already told you he’s a historian. He’s really into literature as well, and poetry, but he doesn’t quite want to admit it.”</p><p>“How do you know, then?”</p><p>“He left a notebook open with lyrics or some poem that had references to a German novel from the 80s. Anyways, and he is not a really picky eater. Doesn’t like cilantro, though.”</p><p>“And Emerson?”</p><p>Harry hums and slides the vegetables into a deep pan, stirring it a little before placing the lid on top. “They are a chocolatier. They are the reason you find so many praline boxes around here.” He giggles. “I bet you they will bring another box as a gift. We made a little tradition when we get invited to the other’s homes. I bring a fancy wine if they invite me; they bring some fancy chocolate if I am the host.”</p><p>“Who came up with that,” Louis snorts and rubs the seasoning into the chicken breasts.</p><p>“Em did; aid ‘I’m too old to get Vodka, but nobody will say anything against some wine’. Mhh, what else. They are allergic to cats, yet Em tries to convince Niall to get one of those hypoallergenic ones. They have pretty long brown hair the last time I saw them. That’s all for now, I think?”</p><p>“Is that a question?”</p><p>“Shut up or I’ll kick you out without dinner,” he waves the knife toward Louis jokingly before he resumes cutting some bell peppers.</p><p>“You’d never,” he replies and grins, disappearing in the pantry for a moment before returning with a cool blood bag, emptying the liquid in a separate pot and throwing some canned tomatoes in as Harry adds some peppers. “It’s gonna be interesting once they realize why we have separate sauce.”</p><p>“I’d rather not die of deprivation, thanks a lot darling. Niall’s gonna be fine I reckon. He’s got a pretty strong stomach, but I’m not sure about Em. Maybe they won’t even notice by themself and Niall will reveal it when they are home,” he chuckles.</p><p>“How did they meet?”</p><p>Harry hums and sets the knife down, leaning against the counter. “At a book fair, a rather small one. He brought me back a book on birds from there. Had to kick him out after six hours of dropping off the book in which he only raved on and on about how amazing someone he met was – disgustingly cute.”</p><p>“You like birds?”</p><p>“Prefer botany, still, but I told Niall a lot that I was up early or up until late night to watch the birds in the park and study their nesting behaviour. Fucker believed it and got me a huge atlas on local birds.”</p><p>“Well, someone grew up to be a convincing liar, huh?”</p><p>“Don’t tease me,” Harry chuckles and a grin takes over his face, dimples appearing on his cheeks.</p><p>The bell rings and they both look toward the hallway. “Well’ company’s here. Don’t let them wait Pinocchio.”</p><p>He grins and pokes the other man’s side making him flinch and giggles escape his mouth as Harry exits the room to buzz his friends up. The pair appears in front of him and he smiles brightly into the hugs he receives.</p><p>“Come on in, darlings.”</p><p>“Still into the weird but likeable clash of historic decoration and modern room design – still can’t say I hate it.”</p><p>Harry grins and bites his lower lip. “Don’t insult the host, Em, you know I could wipe you out with this very meal,” he teases. “Love the hair, by the way.”</p><p>They flick their hair behind the shoulder and ruby red lips curl into a gentle smile. “Yeah, I wasn’t feeling the brown anymore. Black looks just as good, doesn’t it? Do you like my suit?”</p><p>The dark blue material hugs their body perfectly, black pumps elongating their legs and making Em a tad taller than Niall – oh Harry just knows Niall hates that because Em is mercilessly teasing him whenever they can, height never being a topic they avoid bickering over.</p><p>“Love it, but isn’t it a bit fancy for a dinner over at mine?”</p><p>Emerson shakes their head, hair resting in front on both sides now. “First, you are simply underdressed,” a giggle leaves the lips. “But also I bought it months ago and haven’t had the opportunity to show it off, so you’ll do.”</p><p>The three walk into the kitchen where Louis has already set up the table for four. Artie is nowhere to be seen, so he must have taken care of him as well. The cute dog shouldn’t be in the room begging every second they try to enjoy.</p><p>“I’ll do? You make me sound so cheap.”</p><p>“To be fair, you did give me your number the first time we met almost instantly and all it took was a nice hello,” Niall intersects with a teasing grin.</p><p>“Shut up, go and look at my library. Anyway, Emerson, Niall, this is Louis. Louis, this is Emerson and Niall.”</p><p>They quickly shake hands and exchange hellos.</p><p>“Apropos,” Niall starts, gaze briefly shifting to Louis who stirs the sauce in the smaller pot. Their eyes meet for a brief second, and Harry swallows. He won’t think anything of it. “I asked around in the department, and they said they can’t give the letter away or take it out of the display unless there’s proof of ownership.”</p><p>“What letter?” Louis pipes up, sitting down with them.</p><p>“Just some, uh, random deed paper. You know, history stuff.”</p><p>“Deed?” Their focus shifts to Emerson who takes a sip of white wine. “Is this about that letter at the museum? It was adorable, wasn’t it? That’s not some kind of boring deed, Harry. Why did I ever think you’d be a romantic,” they sigh dramatically against the glass.</p><p>“Oh,” he swallows and looks toward Niall. “So... you went to the exhibit, then?”</p><p>The man nods stiffly. “Yeah, sorry.”</p><p>“No, it’s – uhm – it’s alright. Wanted to come clean about some stuff anyways.”</p><p>“Oh?” Niall’s eyebrows shoot up and he leans back, eyeing Harry before looking toward the other man. “Ohh, well congrats then.”</p><p>“What?” “What?” Louis and Harry share a quick glance.</p><p>And – wait. “No! No not about that. No,” he stutters out, shaking his head quickly. Harry is pretty sure about his feelings for Louis, and the way the adoration has only manifested itself within his bones over time, but he can’t admit it to the man in question quite yet.</p><p>“Well, I was actually talking about what I told Niall a few weeks ago.” He gets up and sets the pots with food on the table, leaving the extra sauce for Louis and himself on the turned-off stove so they don’t accidentally intermix. One semi-trauma should be more than enough for one evening.</p><p>Emerson takes another sip of wine. “Oh, yeah he’s been acting a bit weird the past few. He didn’t want to say it.” Niall pouts and whines a teasing ‘hey’, and his partner merely chuckles and directs their attention back to Harry. “So what is it that’s been preoccupying him?”</p><p>They pile some food on their plates, Louis and Harry quickly adding some of their small pot on it. “Well, uhm,” he licks his lips and sits back down.</p><p>“Do you know Twilight,” Louis intercepts and Niall lets out a snort beside Em. They nod. “’s nothing like that.”</p><p>“What is nothing like it?”</p><p>“Being a vampire,” he shrugs, so casually Harry wishes he could be like that sometimes.</p><p>“Hm?” Emerson stops eating for a moment. “I mean, if this joke is over, the punch line is missing. 4 out of 10 though, because the Twilight movies made me laugh back then.,” they shrug and take another bite.</p><p>“Not a joke, I’m afraid. Niall found out Harry, and I, are bloodsuckers,” Louis chuckles, taking a bite himself. “Just show ‘em your cute little fangs, will you darling?”</p><p>Harry has been sitting stiff and starchy beside them, staring at the side of Louis's face. Granted, he’s utterly grateful that Louis is taking the reins on this revelation. A gentle nudge on his foot breaks him out of his trance, smiling shyly.</p><p>He reluctantly shares a smile with Emerson and Niall, the latter farther less fazed by the fangs twice as long as a normal human’s. Emerson swallows, staring at the eyeteeth.</p><p>“You are bloody joking, right?”</p><p>“No, we are eating blood, quite literally.” Harry nods toward the abandoned pot on the stove and Niall chokes on a sip of wine.</p><p>“Please tell me that –“</p><p>“Don’t worry, yours are separate, no blood involved,” Louis chuckles.</p><p>Emerson stares at Niall and Louis bickering, swallowing around nothing. “So, you are telling me vampires are all gay and hot and rich.”</p><p>Harry blanches, looking at Emerson from across the table. “I – what? I expected you to faint,” he mutters. His eyes wander to Louis for a moment, and he looks just as flabbergasted as himself.</p><p>They are quiet for a second before erupting into giggles, pointing a thumb to Niall. “He fainted, didn’t he?”</p><p>“I – ,” he sighs, downing his untouched wine glass in one go, taking a deep breath.  “Yeah, he fainted. Not for long, though.”</p><p>Harry’s not sure if the albeit unconcentrated alcohol in his system or the fact that Emerson reacted way better than he ever dared to imagine, that his shoulders drop and the tense electricity in the air clears. Emerson’s chuckle reaches his ears.</p><p>“You look like I just told you the one way to live forever.”</p><p>“Technically, we already do live forever,” Louis mentions as it were a conversation about last week’s weather.</p><p>“So that’s true then? Do you also glow in the sun?”</p><p>Harry sighs and shakes his head. “Em, we have been outside together plenty of times. And yes, we live until we – well – get killed or end ourselves, I suppose.”</p><p>“How old are you then?”</p><p>“bout 360 years each,” Louis shrugs. Met back in the days of being nobles and all that,” he chuckles.</p><p>“So all vampires are rich, I was right.”</p><p>Harry shakes his head. “Not all. A few I know were far from it. But the longer you live, the more you save up, you know?”</p><p>He doesn’t get an answer other than a small nod, and the four of them resume eating in silence, the weight of the revelation slowly settling in.</p><p>“To be honest,” Louis starts, carefully cleaning his mouth, “I have yet to meet a non-queer vampire. To answer another of your suspicions from earlier.”</p><p>Harry grins and takes another sip from his wine, chuckling into the beverage. It’s a nice evening, and the longer they sit together, the longer the weight of secrets turn into nothingness into the feeling you get watching a feather follow the currents of the winds.</p><p>At some point Niall and Em bid the two goodbye, the latter hugging both fairly tightly and Niall winking at Harry with a mischievous grin and a nod towards Louis, causing Harry to chuckle and shove him out the door.</p><p>Around one in the morning, the two men finally settle on the sofa with the fireplace creating comfortable warmth and illuminating the place in soft orange flicks of light. Louis’s feet are perched on his lap.</p><p>“This went better than expected,” he utters, head in the back and resting on the backrest.  </p><p>Louis hums and presses his feet harder into his muscles. “Yeah, I didn’t expect them to act like it’s chill... Niall really passed out when you told him?”</p><p>The younger chuckles and nods, placing a hand on his calf. “Yeah, fell off the chair and face-first into the floor at the estate.”</p><p>Louis hums, inching closer to Harry., muttering ‘I haven’t been there in forever’ as he pulls the soft blanket higher on his shoulders. It’s warm beneath the blanket. Warm enough for Louis’s feet to feel warm and his muscles to be relaxed thoroughly.</p><p>Moments, feelings, like this one. Harry nods.</p><p>“What letter did Niall mean? Or deed, or whatever it is?”</p><p>So much to be relaxed. He takes a deep breath, turning to look at his companion. “You’ll figure it out eventually. I’ve given you enough hints,” he mutters, earning a groan in response.</p><p>“You’re an asshole.”</p><p>“Yet you cuddle up to me and share dinner with me, I can’t be that bad.”</p><p>“You are one for games, mh?”</p><p>He hums, nodding. “Games lubricate the body and the mind.”</p><p>Louis laughs, kicking his thigh. “Don’t fucking use the word lubricate, oh god. I will spear you myself.”</p><p>“Well, for that we would need lube, wouldn’t we?”</p><p>They stop talking for a moment before erupting into giggles and Harry lets out a honk of a laugh. “Since when are you so sharp-witted, your Honourable? And so naughty as well. Talking about delicates. Improper!”</p><p>He laughs and turns around to face Louis, smile big on his lips, crowfeet ever so slightly visible from the grin. He clears his voice, pitching it higher. “I am over 300 years old mother, I may talk about my delicates in any way I please.”</p><p>Louis grins. “Your mother would have you dragged by the lovelock if she heard you talk here.”</p><p>“For sure. Thank god lovelocks became unfashionable, I looked hideous.”</p><p>Louis hums gently. “I thought you looked quite dashing. Very handsome. I looked like I dunked my head into lard every morning,” Louis chortles.</p><p>“Yeah, you really looked like that.”</p><p>“Oi!,” he feels a strong kick against his thigh, one Louis surely infused with some of his powers, “You’re supposed to compliment me back and call me sexy.”</p><p>Harry presses his lips together to suppress the eminent smile. “Excuse my improperness, my Lord, you did look rather dashing with your hair slicked back as you emerged it in lard each morn. Handsome enough to charm off my breeches.” He chokes on a laugh, catching Louis’s ankle just as it was about to make contact with his thigh again.</p><p>“You are insufferable. They should have sent you to finishing school, you menace.”</p><p>“Yet here you are in my lap,” he grins and sets the foot down on his thigh again.</p><p>“Some mistakes get made, dearest.”</p><p>“Hope I’m not one then?”</p><p>“Never.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s an unintentional game of hot and cold for weeks. One second they tease each other, the next they act in the most ‘we are bros’ way one could imagine. Cuddling on the couch or in bed to talking about their exes and future plans with other people.</p><p>Louis’s plans never involve Harry, he has solemnly taken notice of. ‘I don’t know, I wanna travel the world. Japan sounds nice, maybe get a cute futuristic flat or summat’; or ‘I don’t feel like settling down yet, I don’t want to grow fat and lazy quite yet’; and never ‘don’t know, <em>we </em>could’.</p><p>So Harry let his pettiness get the better of him. ‘We could go on a holiday where we haven’t been’ becomes ‘I could go to Northern Ireland for some holidays at some point’; and ‘you could show me your favourite places in the world, no matter where they are’ becomes ‘I know a good travel agency, maybe they know some hidden gems in Europe’.</p><p>They don’t talk about the letter again, either.</p><p>But the less they talk, the more they spend time together doing nothing. Hours spent in silence reading different books, preparing dinner quietly together, simply being in their presence. And as much as Harry craves more – more of <em>something</em> – he doesn’t mind basking in his existence.</p><p>He studies his careful movements of the pen, smiling whenever Louis sticks his tongue out a few millimetres in concentration.</p><p>“I’ve always liked your handwriting, you know?”</p><p>Louis looks up for a moment, smiling softly before focusing back on the paper. “Thank you, but mine is chicken scratch compared to yours.”</p><p>“Who are you even writing this for?”</p><p>“Hmm? Oh, Frederick, actually. He and his fiancé wanna start eternity together rather early, so he asked me to design some wedding invitations. Didn’t you know, as his maker and all?”</p><p>Harry knew, of course. Frederick consulted him frequently ever since he and Moh got engaged, and they kept throwing ideas on how to reveal his status as mythical in a way that won’t end in heartbreak. He and Moh are perfect for each other, in every way he wishes he could be with Louis, but for now, they are friends.</p><p>“I knew,” he muses with a smile, “just didn’t know he knew that you have impeccable penmanship.”</p><p>“Mhh, we met up for lunch the other week, he still had my number. I was surprised that he didn’t ask you.”</p><p>“I guess it would be a tad awkward for his ex to prepare dozens of handwritten wedding invitations., especially because we still run in the same circles of friends here in London.”</p><p>Louis chuckles and nods, licking his lips. “True, that would be a bit awkward. Have you met Moh?”</p><p>“Here and there,” he responds and turns a page. “I feel like I know more about what his talents are below the belt than what his face looks like. Love Frederick and all, but I honest to god don’t need to hear about his sex life so often. Hopefully, that ceases once they are married.”</p><p>“Thankfully I don’t have to hear that, I only had to suffer a hundred font samples sent to my phone – Does this ‘e' in the last row look wonky?” He holds the piece of paper toward Harry, blocking the page he’s reading.</p><p>He examines the paper, tilting his head. “To be honest, they all look a bit wonky. Why don’t you take a break? Just because you use fancier pens now doesn’t mean your hand won’t cramp up,” he chides, carefully taking the paper and fanning it before closing his book around it. He plucks the black ink pen from Louis’s right hand and closes it. “You look rough.”</p><p>“I don’t,” comes the meek reply. “I only haven’t been shaving for a couple of weeks.”</p><p>“I know. Come on then, I’ll help.”</p><p>“And how?”</p><p>“Chop chop, come on.” He gets up and stretches his legs, knees crackling and he sighs. Harry enters the bathroom and hums, Louis coming shortly after.</p><p>“Now what, I’m too young for a sponge bath.”</p><p>“Just wait for a moment,” he grins and exits the bathroom in a flash, clambering around the flat and spare room, dragging the boxy chair into the bathroom with ease along with two bowls and some towels. “Tada,” he grins and leans down on the backrest of the barber chair. The black leather is cool to the touch, immaculate and over five decades old.</p><p>“You just have a barber chair standing around,” Louis deadpans as he stares at the piece.</p><p>“I also have a huge globe and books from over 200 years ago lying around. Your point? Anyway, get on, and let me pamper you.”</p><p>Louis slowly rises from the edge of the bathtub he took a seat on. “Who says you won’t slit me open like a pig once I let my guard down?”</p><p>Harry rummages in the cabinet below the sink and pulls out a small wooden box, random clumsy carvings adorning the lid. He opens it and takes out an open razor. “Firstly, I could’ve killed you the first time I slept over at yours. Secondly, I was a barber for a few years, I know what I’m doing. Let me pamper you a little, mhh?” He carefully cleans the blade to rid it of any random rust and dust that could have collected on it since the last time he cleaned it (eight weeks ago, but still).</p><p>When he turns back to face the chair and his, well, client, he’s met with a sight he’s longed to see for quite some time now. He swallows heavily at Louis so casually perched upon the leather, upper body on full display. It’s the first time Harry sees that the other man has tattoos beyond his arms. Maybe he will know the stories behind them one day.</p><p>“I’m ready. Didn’t want to get me shirt wet,” he shrugs. “Now pamper me, dearest.”</p><p>He adverts his eyes from the cursive above his collar bones and nods quickly: “Right, yeah yeah, sorry.” Harry takes a white towel and places it over Louis’s upper body. He holds a fresh towel underneath the hot water from the sink and wrings it out carefully, wrapping it around Louis’s face, effectively covering his eyes as well.</p><p>The latter hums. “Reminds me of my favourite barber back in Manchester in the 70s.”</p><p>Harry takes an oil stone and sharpens the razor blade quickly.</p><p>“D’you think you could take your shirt off, as well?”</p><p>“Mh?”</p><p>“So I’m not naked all alone?”</p><p>Harry’s skin turns a soft red, warmer and he swallows. “I – I guess?” He looks at Louis briefly before discarding his own shirt and placing it on the edge of the tub. “Do you prefer eucalyptus or neutral pre-shave oil?”</p><p>“Give me the fancy shit,” he utters into the towel and Harry nods to himself. He carefully takes off the towel after a few minutes and rubs the oil in an upwards motion into Louis’s face and massages it into his skin gently.</p><p>Shaving is by far not an interesting activity, but the intimacy of it all is what Harry treasures the most. The simple possibility to be so close to one, who trusts you this much, and help them relax and see their facial features drop from a frown to a neutral look of contentment.</p><p>Louis’s keeps his eyes closed for the entire process, he notices between the last hot towel and the after-shave mask.</p><p>He carefully massages some of his own moisturizer into the other man’s skin and neck. “We’re done here,” he declares softly, washing his hands.</p><p>Louis sighs and blinks his eyes open and in the mirror, Harry can see them study the expanse of his back and his tattoo there.</p><p>“You look really young when you’re fully shaved, you know?”</p><p>“So I’ve heard,” the lad smiles and their eyes meet in the mirror. “Want me to give being a barber, a try?”</p><p>“I adore you, but please do not hold a sharp blade to my neck,” Harry muses and cleans the razor thoroughly. “No need for payback, I love pampering friends,” he continues with a shrug.</p><p>“Hope I’m the only one you’ll shave shirtless. Then,” he smacks his lips, “I’ll give you a massage. That’s something I am good at. And no arguing back.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>Louis grins and gets up from the barber chair, gently patting Harry’s lower back. “Chop chop, come on to your bedroom. Also, do you have massage oils?”</p><p>“Uh,” his eyes scan the bathroom. “Yeah, a lavender one. ‘s pretty old though so-“</p><p>“It’ll do,” Louis interrupts him and snatches the glass bottle from the cupboard before running out of the bathroom as quickly as shadow itself. Harry sighs and rubs his lower back, slowly walking to his bedroom.</p><p>“Where did you even get the candles from?” There’s a few dozen scented and unscented candles scattered across the room’s surfaces – one precariously close to a leave of his favourite plant.</p><p>“You have so many in the living room, I’ll put them back tomorrow,” he shrugs. “Now come here.”</p><p>Harry lays on his front carefully, sighing deeply when the aroma of lavender hits his nostrils. The duvet is pushed to the right side of the bed, and his favourite snuggle pillow cups his head perfectly. He’s got into the habit of holding something in his sleep, so he purchased a small long pillow to cuddle in the night. Sue him.</p><p>The foreign weight of a body rests on the back of his thighs, and he licks his lips. “Hope I’m the only client whose ass you sit on when you give massages,” he mumbles with a cheek squished in the mattress.</p><p>“Of course you’re the only one. Anywhere it really hurts apart from the lower back?”</p><p>He hums and focuses on the muscles in his back for a moment, where the tenseness is the most noticeable. “Maybe the right shoulder.”</p><p>Louis’s hands move with practices expertise, working on the knots beneath his skin. Harry’s eyes slip shut a few minutes into the massage. He’s had back problems for a while (if you can call centuries ‘a while’) and he regularly gets massages from a physiotherapist. The appointments have become more infrequent the last year though, with Harry working more and Artie being the restless mutt he is.</p><p>“Any more funny tattoos I can look forward to seeing,” Louis asks from above, rubbing his hand softly down his spine.</p><p>Harry hums, shaking his head slightly. “Not really, maybe the few random words on my knees and the word ‘big’ on my big toe.” He giggles softly.</p><p>“Big on your big toe? And I thought the penguin on my ass was dumb.” Louis hums and continues kneading the muscles of his shoulders. “Lost a bet with a friend and had to get it. Another friend got the same thing too,” he explains further.</p><p>“You’re dumb.”</p><p>“Careful, Styles, I can fuck your back up even more.”</p><p>Harry sighs and smiles softly. “You’d never.”</p><p>He’s not sure how long he lies like this, and whether or not he fell asleep for a moment, but when the weight on his thighs disappears he forces himself to turn on his back and stretch his limbs. “God, I loved that.”</p><p>“You can call me Louis, thanks dearest,” the other man teases, laying down next to Harry. He rests his head on his palm, staring at Harry.</p><p>“God I hate you – wait, what last name do you go by nowadays?”</p><p>“Tomlinson.”</p><p>“God I hate you, Louis Tomlinson, formerly known as Louis Cavendish, Marquess of Hartington.”</p><p>“Oh, cursing my past, present and few future years in one go. And here I was, thinking I’d grown my balls enough to give you a kiss and you wouldn’t smack me in return,” he muses.</p><p>And – what?</p><p>“You... what?”</p><p>Harry can see a healthy red colour tint Louis’s skin. The man swallows and Harry can nothing but watch his Adam's apple bob. Louis clears his throat. “Well, now that I’ve already made it awkward,” he utters, “I’d really like to kiss you, Harry.”</p><p>Granted, Harry has thought about them being more than friends, and he would be lying if he hasn’t imagined how soft his lips would feel. Just innocent daydreaming, you know? But now, with the opportunity right there, his mind and body are frozen in place.</p><p>Harry has kissed quite a few people throughout his life, and arguably Louis has been the one person throughout it all he has imagined a kiss, any intimate acts really, with. He blushes as well, looking at the man on the other side of the bed.</p><p>“No joke?” Louis shakes his head in response, and Harry nods. Why deny himself the feeling of a nice kiss with a man he certainly fancies.</p><p>“I need you to say it, dearest. I don’t want to overstep my boundaries,” the man whispers and Harry smiles softly.</p><p>“I’d really like a kiss, yeah.”</p><p>They sit for a moment, before they lean in, Louis resting his hand on Harry’s cheek. His lips feel soft against his own, and Harry can feel Louis’s breath beneath his nose, thumb carefully stroking the skin of his face.</p><p>The kiss hits him. It’s like sending him to a candy store with no limit at the age of five, little heart beating fast in his chest. It’s like he is opening up his soul, tasting and feeling every colour of the rainbow (very gay).</p><p>A smile in a bottle; softness, sweetness. Time doesn’t exist for him since he turned. But now, it’s even more insignificant.  He’s always laughed at the saying “on cloud nine”, but now – with Louis’s lips on his and his hand on his biceps – he’s feeling like he is floating off the ground into the warm air.</p><p>He always laughed at people saying they felt the fireworks, but now he feels like explosives go off within him, New Year’s fireworks in his heart and soul.</p><p>For such an innocent kiss – a simple pressing of lips together, no tongue or wandering hands involved – Harry is feeling on top of the world, like he’s on a high he won’t ever want to come down.</p><p>They slowly part. Louis keeps his hand on Harry’s cheek. The latter smiles, dimples on display and he feels Louis’s thumb stroke one.</p><p>“I liked that,” he murmurs. Louis nods lightly in agreement and before he knows it they kiss again, whispers shared between them no one else would hear and shushed talks between kisses.</p><p>○○○</p><p>Harry wakes up the next morning cocooned in his blanket and Artie lying in the empty space next to him. He sighs deeply and scratches the dog’s back, humming. He gets up slowly, back popping and he dresses in random pink joggers and a white shirt.</p><p>The smell of pancakes enters his nose and a smile takes over his face. He walks into the kitchen, Artie hot on his heels. Louis stands in front of the oven in the joggers Harry wore last night and some high socks.</p><p>“Smells good,” he says and approaches the man, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. “Didn’t have to make breakfast, though.”</p><p>Louis chuckles and turns his head to quickly kiss Harry properly before turning his attention back to the pan. A small stack of pancakes already sits on a plate next to the stovetop. “Have to make sure you’re alright.” The man nods towards a mug and chuckles.</p><p>“Sit down, dearest. This is the last pancake anyway. I’ll eat the first one. It’s a bit wonky and burnt because I haven’t figured out your stove yet.”</p><p>So Harry sits down. Louis looks graceful, delicious, where he makes the food. His hair is still tangled, a small cowlick at the back of his head and his upper body on full display. Louis sets down the plate in front of him and sits down next to him.</p><p>Harry hooks their ankles together and Louis pushes the mug toward him. “Drink up, dearest.”</p><p>He peeks in the mug, raising his brow at the thick red liquid.</p><p>Louis lifts his hand and gently strokes the two circular marks on the juncture of his neck. “Can’t have you fall over or get sick.”</p><p>Harry hums and takes a sip. “You didn’t have to bite me in the first place.” He takes a pancake and takes a bite.</p><p>“You started it, I only retaliated. But I took more than you, so drink up, I already had a few sips,” Louis muses and takes a bite of a pancake too. It does look pretty wonky now that Louis lifted it from his plate. It’s not round, a rather random wiggled shape far from round and the underside was burnt in several spots.</p><p>They eat breakfast in silence, ankles hooked and sharing a mug of type L blood to replenish them. The night took a turn Harry truthfully did not expect it to take. After a few more kisses he thought they would maybe let their hands wander a little.</p><p>Harry almost kicked himself in the ass and out the window when he asked how far they could go and Louis stopped his movements for a moment. But he could have kissed his own ass and sang praise to all that’s holy when Luis had rolled on top of him and asked about boundaries and what they enjoyed before resuming their kiss. Going way farther than he had expected, and he relished every second of it.</p><p>“What are you doing today?”</p><p>Louis hums and wipes his hands on his trousers. “I was going to set up the fairy lights in my living room. But other than that probably nothing.”</p><p>“Want me to help?”</p><p>“You sure get clingy after sex, you weren’t joking,” the other man giggles and nods, combing a hand through his hair to smooth it down. “But I’d really like it. Wanna bring Artie, yeah?”</p><p>His cheeks redden a little and he nods shyly.</p><p>He’s always been affectionate after intimacy. And now it’s Louis. The man he thought about and pined after for years, nay centuries. Nobody can blame him for wanting to bathe in the affection he’s getting now, having his infatuation and crush – love? – requited.</p><p>“He’s gonna be stoked to lounge in his fancy dog bed.”</p><p>“I sure hope so.”</p><p>Harry hums softly, finishing his food.</p><p>When they enter Louis’s house Artie scampers off to the living room immediately. “He really loves that bed, huh,” he comments while he shrugs off his jacket.</p><p>“Well, females won’t fall for his ball-less ass anymore, so the pillow is all the love he’s gonna get,” Louis shrugs.</p><p>“He fathered a litter back in the ‘60s, he had his fun before I decided to chop them off.”</p><p>“Poor lad, he only wants to be a daddy again.” They migrate to the living room as well and Harry smiles at the furniture. The company delivered the two sofas, the beanbag chair and a few custom white cabinets a week ago. Harry spent the entire day overseeing the building process and the day after with scattering blankets, pillows, plants, and picture frames all over the house to give it a touch of personality.</p><p>“Where are the fairy lights?”</p><p>Louis points to the box on the table and continues to scratch Artie’s belly. Harry picks it up and hums. “Got a ladder to put it up?”</p><p>The ground floor of the house had higher ceilings than the average room, therefore higher windows. Harry has a love-hate relationship with big windows. On one hand the amount of natural light they provide and the shadows they cause in the room are art in itself. On the other side as soon as it gets dark and he has to turn on the lights, he’s on display for everyone to look inside as they please.</p><p>“Don’t have a ladder, but I got a tall strong man to lift me up long enough, don’t I?”</p><p>“What do I get out of it?”</p><p>Louis hums and gets up, knees crackling quietly. He quickly pecks Harry on the mouth and the cheek. “I’ll give you another fancy massage and I’ll get your favourite takeout.”</p><p>Harry hums, pretending to contemplate. “Add a kiss or a cuddle and you have got yourself a deal.”</p><p>“Deal, dearest.”</p><p>Harry sighs and stretches his arms. “Alright, come on then.” He sits down on the grey couch and rolls his shoulders to prepare himself. Louis chuckles beside him and climbs on the sofa behind him, carefully sitting on his shoulders. Harry carefully places his hands on the man’s knees, squeezing softly before standing up.</p><p>Louis is by no means heavy, and he has almost unlimited inhuman strength anyway, but it has been a while since he carried someone like this so he stumbles a few unsure steps toward the windows. He hands Louis the box of lights who unpacks them and carelessly throws the box away.</p><p>“I’ve got thumbtacks in the cabinet there, can you get them?”</p><p>Harry hums and slowly walks over to the cupboard and rummages until he finds the silver small tacks and returns to the windows. Louis hums above him and pats his head. “In another life you would have made an amazing horse, Harold.”</p><p>“You’d have a good excuse to ride me,” he comments with a grin, squeezing one knee before he hands up a thumbtack and Louis pushes it into the wall and fastens the lights on it.</p><p>“As if I need an excuse for that, I’ll do it again tonight if you’re not careful, Styles.”</p><p>“You realize you have to say something I would not enjoy when you try to make a threat, you know?”</p><p>Louis hums and wiggles his toes, sticking another tack into the wall. “Good to know we are on the same page. D’you wanna sleep over tonight, then?”</p><p>Harry really should not. He’s got a client meeting tomorrow at eight. The daylight would obviously be out so he couldn’t use his vampire speed to make it home fast. He’d have to walk at a normal pace or use the tube, and either way, it’s over half an hour, so he’d have to get up at six-thirty to have enough time to freshen up.</p><p>He nods regardless of his likely stressful early morning. “Yeah, if you’ll have me.”</p><p>“Always gonna have you, dearest. Hopefully.” He feels a soft tug on his hair and he smiles, squeezing Louis’s knee yet again.</p><p>His heart is full, and he grins. They hang up the six metres of fairy lights pretty quickly and Louis climbs off Harry’s shoulders soon after they are done. He’d ordered him to prepare some tea beforehand – ratatouille style – while giggling and chuckling every minute.</p><p>“They look good, can’t wait until it’s dark outside so I can get cosy in here.”</p><p>Harry nods and looks at him. “’s Sunday, right?” Louis mumbles ‘yes’ against his teacup and takes a sip.</p><p>“We could go to the museum.”</p><p>“Museum?”</p><p>Harry nods slowly, swallowing. He’s toyed with the thought of sowing Louis the letter displayed in the museum for a little while now. Niall’s had no luck getting him the letter or even access to it. He tried, that’s already more than Harry could ever expect and ask for.</p><p>But yesterday he received a text from the historian about how he doesn’t have to worry about the letter being publically accessible anymore since the exhibit ends upcoming Monday.</p><p>Relief was the first emotion he felt. Not to worry about having to hide this thing from Louis felt good. But then he felt guilty for keeping it from him in the first place. As embarrassing it would be to have Louis know just how infatuated he was back after just one meeting – he would rather have this than keep it a secret from the man forever.</p><p>He might crap himself now, but it will be worth it later. Hopefully.</p><p>“Yeah museum, there’s an exhibition I visited with Niall a while ago. I think you’d like it,” he shrugs, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.</p><p>Louis takes another sip and empties his cup. “Sure, I haven’t been to a museum in a while.”</p><p>Harry smiles a little, and after a bit of more than just innocent kisses, they arrive at the museum.</p><p>“Love through centuries? Now that we’re past that weird friends-stage you are going to drag me to events specifically targeting couples, hm,” the man hums.</p><p>“I’d love to drag you to couples yoga and couples massages, but that’ll have to wait.” He licks his lips. Harry purchases their tickets and they ascend to the room. “Remember that Niall mentioned a deed I wanted him to get for me?”</p><p>Louis is quiet for a moment, frowning. “Yeah, what fancy real estate do you own, Styles.”</p><p>“Well, the original family estate in Arundel, my current flat, a small fisher home and a townhouse in Manchester. Basically, still, own every place I ever lived in for a longer time.”</p><p>“You really are homebound, huh? And apparently a real estate mogul,” he chuckles, looking at a carved stone figurine of a female.</p><p>“Hey, I only rent out the Manchester one for really cheap. The fisher house is my little holiday retreat.” He looks at the statue as well, reading the little info chart beside it.</p><p>“Well, next holiday you will have to take me with you. Wanna know how good ole Harry lived years ago.”</p><p>He smiles, swallowing lightly. He licks his lips. “C’mon.” He gently takes Louis’ hand and laces their fingers together, dragging him to the next piece, and the next.</p><p>“Good lord, calm down. We still got a few hours. What’s got you racing through all this,” Louis questions and carefully tugs Harry back towards him.</p><p>He sighs and looks at a pencil painting displayed on the wall. “The deed Niall was talking about wasn’t a deed. ‘s something you’ll recognize.”</p><p>The older man frowns and tilts his head. “I’d recognize it? Did you steal from me?”</p><p>He blanches for a moment and shakes his head. “No, but,” he huffs, “just come and see. I don’t wanna say it.”</p><p>Louis eyes him carefully, and he’s sure he looks nervous enough standing there with fidgeting fingers and sucking his lip in his mouth and biting down and leaving them red and puffy. He nods. “Lead the way then.”</p><p>Harry takes a subtle breath and resumes walking with Louis following him. They pass the 15th-century pieces and enter the space with works of the 1700s.</p><p>“Oh, I know the woman in that one. Mean bitch she was, tried to set me up with her 12-year-old daughter,” Louis comments and points toward a portrait of a pale woman with a grey high hairdo. “Creepy lady, bet she’s haunting her ancestors in the afterlife now and driving them insane.”</p><p>“You’re so mean. Don’t speak ill of the dead.”</p><p>“You called a monarch in a documentary an, and I quote, unnecessary being with paedophilic tendencies that would be better off in the deepest darkest circle of hell with a cactus in his asshole.”</p><p>“Difference is that I didn’t know the creep, though,” he huffs.</p><p>“But you weren’t wrong though. That bastard deserves nothing.”</p><p>They arrive at the display with the letter and Harry stops, licking his bitten lips. He points at the glass casing. “Just... look I guess.”</p><p>Louis lets go of his hand after squeezing it reassuringly. He walks over and looks at the variety of pieces displayed until he reaches what Harry wanted to show him. Harry watches him as his eyes move quickly and he presses his lips together.</p><p>His heart beats out of his chest and his hands feel clammier the longer Louis stands before the case, not moving. He takes a tentative step toward the man. “Well,” he starts with his voice not louder than a whisper, “this is what I didn’t want you to see.”</p><p>Louis is silent, and Harry can hear him take a deep breath.</p><p>“So, the reason you didn’t flirt back was that you had no idea how to reciprocate and show your feelings?”</p><p>“No, I – I was scared you’d be crept out. We only met once for f-,” he notices a family with a small child nearby. “for frank’s sake. I basically screamed I love you move in with me after spending a week together and we only wrote letters.” He licks his lips and wipes his hands on his trousers.</p><p>“Moving in after only a week of knowing each other sounds like the typical gay experience to me,” Louis counters after beats of silence. “How did it end up here?”</p><p>“I hid it in the library instead of destroying it,” he replies. “Some historian found it and apparently found it significant enough to embarrass me to millions of tourists in the name of love and proving gays existed 300 years ago.”</p><p>Harry watches the man pull out his phone and take a picture through the glass. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“Well, either I print it out or you rewrite it just as fancy.”</p><p>He swallows. “Why?”</p><p>“Dearest,” Louis sighs and puts his phone back in his back pocket, “I think we have established that I am rather fond of you, and have been all those years ago when we first met. As embarrassing as it sounds, I wanna like – frame it or even stick it in my pocket just to read it,” the man shrugs with red ears.</p><p>Harry blushes as well, licking his lips. “I – I’ll rewrite it then? I won’t get it back either way,” he mutters.</p><p>“This other one is from your sister, I suppose?” Louis points to another letter on display, and Harry nods.</p><p>“Yeah, Alexander wrote it.”</p><p>“He was a simp. Did he brag as much in the days?”</p><p>Harry laughs and nods. “It wasn’t bragging per se. More like teasing. But he was always teasing how he had a son, then another, then another, and then a daughter, while I didn’t have a child. At least I can say I was always the smarter one, and now got enough degrees to run a faculty myself.”</p><p>“I remember the christening of his daughter, you weren’t there.”</p><p>They slowly walk away from the case and inspect an oil painting hung behind a string. “Yeah, I think I was out of the estate for business? Or I had a fever,” he frowns as he tries to recall why he actually hadn't attended the christening. “Anyway, I wasn’t there. If I had known you would be, I would have dragged my pale ass to the church.”</p><p>“’s not pale nowadays,” Louis chimes in with a grin. “Yeah, christenings aren’t my cup of tea and I usually avoided them. But Alex basically begged me on his knees to attend because he wanted me to be godfather.”</p><p>“Oh, I would have loved to see him grovel.” The image of an ever so proud Alexander kneeling on the floor clutching Louis’s vest begging him to attend a church service is just too good. The man hadn’t lost his pride as he aged, always held his head high and nose higher.</p><p>“It was honestly funny to see. Wished phones existed so I could have filmed that,” Louis chuckles, covering his mouth with his hand before lacing their fingers together again.</p><p>Harry smiles and squeezes their hands together for a brief moment.</p><p>They slowly walk from art piece to art piece, navigating between different displays and rooms of the exhibition. Louis throws in random facts about people he knows, the customs of different countries he lived in at some point, and all with a big grin.  (“Were you around when they opened the Stockton and Darlington Railway?” – “How would I, I was in southern France in the 1820s, enjoying my best rich person life.” And sometimes Harry was able to reply the exact way. “Did you attend the Crystal Palace Exhibit in the ‘50s?” – “No, that was my fisherman life in the northeast.”)</p><p>They noticed rather quickly that they weren’t particularly involved in what are considered historic events. It’s funny to think they lived in such shaping times and just went on and ate dinner while whole revolutions took place in their backyard.</p><p>(“You saw Napoleon being shipped off to Elba?” – “What? No, I was on holiday, as if I gave a fuck about a random frigate from a port.”)</p><p>The two vampires exit the building just before closing time and Louis tugs Harry along the streets that are now lit by the street lights. “I know a really nice authentic Vietnamese restaurant. We could get some takeout from there and watch some rom-com. Given there is one left you haven’t seen,” the shorter of the two teases.</p><p>“I haven’t seen that many!” Harry pouts. “Just – just the right amount.”</p><p>“Triple digits, hmm?”</p><p>He nods and looks around, watching a man jog by on the other side. “Yeah, triple digits.”</p><p>Louis tugs him to a small restaurant at a street corner and they order rather quickly. Once they are seated in the warm comfort of Louis’s house they dig in their food which has Harry moan at the taste.</p><p>He has never had Rau Muong nor Bot Chien before but god damn it, he will get it again. They polish their plates clean off, Harry literally licking his plate clean, and pointedly ignoring Louis who laughs at his childlike antics.</p><p>They do the dishes properly with the radio playing softly in the background. Louis doesn’t seem to have a problem with silence, but to Harry, silence is awkward. Even when he’s alone, he needs some sound following him, enveloping the space, and give him something to focus on whenever he wants.</p><p>Harry leans against the counter and smiles at Louis putting their glasses away.</p><p>“I can physically feel you staring, you weirdo.”</p><p>“I don’t stare. I admire my partner.”</p><p>Louis hums and turns to face him, closing the space between them and he leans against his chest. “Partner in crime?”</p><p>“I mean, if you want to commit a crime I will bail you out,” he shrugs and wraps his arms loosely around Louis’s body. “But I was thinking more – you know,” he trails off and licks his lips.</p><p>“Romantic partners, mhh?” Harry nods. “I was under the impression we were on the same page on that already. Wanna be my boyfriend? Partner? Whatever term you prefer,” Louis mutters, hand stroking over his chest and Harry lets out a happy sigh.</p><p>“I’d love that.”</p><p>“First thing on the itinerary is that I’m gonna drag you on a holiday away from England. You deserve to see more shit than this boring island. You must have seen all corners of it by now.”</p><p>“Holiday sounds nice,” he utters, running a big hand over Louis’s back. “I always wanted to go to Italy. I’ve always had an affinity for the sun.”</p><p>Louis hums, tapping his chest where the sun tattoo was located. “Italy it is, dearest. The sun has an affinity for you, too, I just know it.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And after 112 word pages we are done, everyone!<br/>It's been a journey. Thanks to everyone who read/reads/will read this book, and maybe even leave a kudos or a comment!</p><p>I honestly didn't even plan for this to be over 15k, but here we are at 60k and more knowledge on how to shave like a barber (weirdly that's the part I took most research for, for only like four paragraphs lmao).</p><p>I'm not 100 percent sure but since this is an open ending, maybe I'll make a short second part, we'll see. <br/>Would that be something you'd be interested in? </p><p>Also, I will be gradually editing this work here and maybe adding some things. Nothing major that changes the plot, just a heads up because I already saw so many weird grammar mistakes I want to correct but don't have energy for right now. </p><p>Anyway, Thanks again to all, and love you a whole lot and I can't wait to start the second work I've been planning for a while. Be safe, everyone!  /gen /pos</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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